The Adversary
by Ezeiel
Summary: "A single lie discovered is enough to create doubt in every truth expressed." Obey without resistance; kill without remorse; live without love... Constructed manually, piece by piece, with a single purpose, she never imagined to be rearranged by a presumptuous and brazen sod such as Sherlock Holmes or his incredibly phlegmatic brother, Mycroft. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN BBC SHERLOCK
1. Chapter 1

_The future..._

"You lied to me..." Sherlock breathed, tilting his head at her in question, stepping forwards cautiously as he found himself enarmoured by her. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, for the fear he would miss something. He couldn't afford that. "Did you know about it?"

Her eyes studied him briefly before she chose to speak, her voice hardened by ice and remaining emotionless. "The orders assigned to me were to infiltrate the home of Sherlock Holmes, and then his life." She paused, clasping her hands before her, retaining her emotions as she watched the Detective. "I was not to expose any personal information concerning myself, or James Moriarty."

"So, did you know or not?" Sherlock pressed testily, his voice low enough to pass for a growl.

"Well, I hardly regard myself as lacking intelligence. Moriarty had me handle Shan... and keep specific situations in preferred order."

Sherlock's face darkened significantly at her confession while she remained silent, his mind deducing what she had told him. "And the bombings... Did you know about them?" He prompted in annoyance, pinching his nose in frustration.

"Sherlock..." Mycroft's voice started but it was drowned out.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at he looked her over; she stood unmoved and utterly composed, and it worried him. She shifted slightly, just a little, and his eyes hastily ghosted over the change as she spoke again. "I knew his plans, but my strict orders were to keep an eye on how Sherlock Holmes was doing in his progression. I got the missile plans as requested."

His eyes narrowed critically as she continued. "You never bothered to check the flash drive, _you were that confident_. I had already been to Joe Harrison's flat and copied the files from the original drive." Her voice was steady and sung beautifully, candidly spoken words drifting into Sherlock's mind as he contemplated them all.

Sherlock venture slowly: "So, your flat..."

"I gave Jim a copy of the key."

His fists curled t her words, "And you've been spying on me..." He probed, already having formed her answer in his head.

"In moderation. But yes, that's how he knew to target John and myself." She supplied, her answers not faltering for a single moment.

Sherlock's eyes glazed over with ice, observing with an evident malice at knowing her intentions. "And you let him." He let out flatly as she sighed.

"You never asked the right questions."

"You've lied to me the entire time..." Sherlock let out, slightly in shock of it all, finding his breath was laboured at the registering of her betrayal.

"See, Sherlock?" Mycroft looked to his brother, exasperated as he glanced back to see her eyes now observing him. "She feels nothing for you... You are blinded, brother! I should have- "

She rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest tersely. "You do not own me, Mycroft. I do not belong to you, I entrust you remember that." Mycroft recoiled at her tone, his gaze hardening before she continued to speak as though he didn't exist. "I was undermined by my own insolence. You need to send my away again."

Sherlock glanced between them in wonder, finding himself utterly confused... _Mycoft knew of all this? "Again?"_ He demanded, softly as he gaze halted on his brother, his face contorting in silent rage, his frustration growing.

She ignored Sherlock's question and turned to look at Mycroft, her gaze softening some at she regarded the elder Holmes brother. "This time, however, not in response to your own jealousy, Mycroft. I am _not_ bound to you." She explained evenly, watching as he studied her with intrigue. "I will offer my services to you, but I cannot stay; I will be a target now that I have defied him..." She trailed off in though, "Defied him to the Ice man and the Virgin... He'll be ever so disappointed."

Mycroft eyed her, shuddering at the use of the nicknames that he found no pride at having been labelled. "You want to be removed from Sherlock's company?" He quizzed, stepping toward her, looming over her. "I will never place my trust in you again, my dear."

"It is the only logical decision that remains."

Mycroft scoffed, "And what if you betray us again?"

"She never will." Sherlock retorted.

"Why are you so adamantly on her side after all she's done?"

"I made a mistake." She breathed in what sounded to be similar to shock. "I wasn't aware that such a thing could happen, that I'd actually..."

Mycroft's brows lifted in surprise as he observed her, her saw her sincerity and relented. "Why are you so willing to help when I should acknowledge that neither myself or Sherlock should trust you for your dishonesty... You aren't trustworthy, you belongs to Jim Moriarty."

Sherlock smiled slightly at he glanced at her, "She let me in, she let me see the truth in her lies... She trusted me, and I saw it." He told his brother as he watched the woman in awe. She possessed some light to break through the darkness; there was goodness in the evil of her life.

Mycroft nodded thoughtfully, ignoring his brother momentarily as he pondered, conflicted. "... I'll grant you your removal, but who's to say that Moriarty won't try anything?" Mycroft questioned, raising a single brow at her.

She nodded in agreement, her arms falling to hand limply at her side. "That is why you need to send me away, that is imperative for you to do." Her voice had never sounded so grave as it did in that very moment; never so frightened and eerily authoritative.

Mycroft frowned. "I see."

"No." Sherlock said abruptly, causing the pair to look at him in surprise.

"Excuse me?" She demanded, utterly confused as Mycroft watched in slightly confusion at his resistance.

" _No_." Sherlock repeated in defiance. "I will not subject her to that fate."


	2. Chapter 2

Gwen blanched as the rain continued to fall from the Heaven's above, heavy droplets of water drilling against her coat as she struggled to hold it above her head, cursing while she knocked the door again, waiting for it to be answered as the rain carried on pelting away at her. Glancing at her watch, she rolled her eyes and let a sigh pass her lips as she stood waiting, knocking on the door as she heard shouting from within.

Just as she was about to turn and leave Baker Street, wishing she never set foot upon the street, she was surprised when the door was hauled open, followed by shouting. "I cannot concentrate with your infernal banging!" His hair bounced as he glowered at her, not caring if she was getting even more wet as he insisted on reprimanding her. "Do you mind?!"

However, he stopped short when he'd realised who was stood in front of him, soaking wet from the rain.

Gwen, frowning, recoiled in distaste as she regarded him coolly, her eyes narrowing. "If your mother were to hear how you greeted me, she would be just as appalled as I am." She stated in disgust, rolling her eyes as she tried to balance her coat over her head while sporting an arm in a sling.

Leaning forward, staring at her for a mere moment, yet, not allowing her inside, Sherlock looked her over carefully. _Slight tan... Middle East... Afghanistan._ His eyes narrowed as he looked her over more closely. Weight loss... was 140 pounds... possibly 125 or 127? His eyes narrowed critically as they flew over her. _Nearly nine stones in weight. Should sling - injury, shot by L9A1 Semi-Automatic pistol, 9mm Parabellum. Humerous bone shattered, extensive surgery took place with bone grafts to repair it..._

Rolling her eyes, Gwen sighed deeply. "Well, what have you deduced then?" She pressed curtly, her eyes narrowing as he merely stared at her for a moment, though he still didn't let her in from the rain to Gwen's growing annoyance.

"Mrs Hudson!" The Consulting Detective hollered abruptly, turning sharply and marching back up the stairs from which he came, muttering to himself as Gwen contemplated stepping inside, glancing around the hallway with slight concern. She had been fearing that Mrs. Hudson would let her flat to another tenant.

Within seconds, a small woman with greying hair and a kind face was rushing towards her, a bright but unsure smile upon her lips as she stopped short. "Gwen?" She managed over the sonorous tones of a violin being played above them. " _Gwen!_ " The landlady immediately grabbed her by her good arm and pulled her inside and into her arms. "I can't believe you're home at last..."

"Apparently getting shot does the job." Gwen sighed, hugging Mrs. Hudson tightly, her gaze trailing to the stairs where the violin was being played. "I encountered the old chap upstairs..."

Mrs Hudson frowned, "What did he say?"

"What didn't he say?" Gwen sighed, shaking her head, knowing it was her fault in the first place, especially how he reacted when she told him she would be going back to Afghanistan... Sherlock had freaked out at the sudden news. "He made his deductions and left me standing in the rain." She explained in amusement.

Removing her coat, Gwen hung it up before turning to see Mrs. Hudson watching her closely. "He's still obviously sulking," She smiled sadly, her gaze trailing to the stairs where the violin was coming from. "

"Oh, _Sherlock_?" Mrs Hudson asked as Gwen nodded, wandering why she sounded so unsure. "Don't mind him; you know what he's like... He's missed you, especially while on cases..." She gestured to the stairs before moving towards them quickly despite having short legs which carried her rather frail looking body. "Anyway, he's got himself a partner - a doctor, even!"

As they ascended the stairs with one another, Gwen glanced over at Mrs Hudson and softly smiled. "A doctor, you say?" She mused, finding the whole prospect of returning to her flat a little overwhelming and slightly daunting.

"Yes, I believe John mentioned something about serving in the army..." Mrs Hudson sent her a sharp grin as she practically dragged Gwen up the stairs. "Perhaps you shared a tour with one another!"

Gwen clenched her jaw as she drew her gaze away from the overly happy landlady and turned her gaze to the flat upstairs. "Perhaps we did..." She murmured, seeing shadows moving beneath the door frame.

Mrs. Hudson continued to speak about the new flatmate of her previous flatmate, and Gwen couldn't help but listen with a slight intrigue. "John is such a nice man, _very reasonable_. He's very good for Sherlock, you know, he offers him stability." The old woman informed her, smiling brightly and Gwen couldn't help but feel as though she was referring to them as a couple.

As they neared, Sherlock's ears picked up the sound of Mrs. Hudson's footsteps, almost childish, as they came up the stairs. "Yoo-ooh!" the landlady greeted rather loudly as her eyes fell upon the men bickering in their chairs. "Sherlock-" The landlady was cut off by the Consulting Detective.

Sherlock's head snapped up from where he sat, his hands clasped before him critically. "Go away, Mrs. Hudson!" He growled as his eyes landed upon Gwen who was stood behind her.

The other man which Gwen had presumed was John soon scolded him thankfully, his face grim and looking slightly furious at Sherlock's treatment of the elder woman. "Sherlock!" He chided. John was fair haired and had warm blue eyes, he was short and compact unlike Sherlock who was elegant and lean. From where Gwen stood in the doorway, John looked as though he had a lot of stories to tell.

Adjusting her injured arm, Gwen stepped into the room, finding everything still in its usual place as her eyes surveyed the flat in guilt.

Rising from his chair, he huffed and strode into the kitchen. "No, John, don't let them in..." He instructed darkly, nudging past Gwen as he went, acting rather like a child having been scolded by its parent.

Gwen tried not to wince when Sherlock's nudge hit her bad arm, causing a jolt to shot along it in its sling. "You know, Curls, you ought to be more careful." She ground out, watching as Sherlock glanced over at her, a deep frown upon his face.

John, however, moved towards the doors immediately as a warm smile graced his features, choosing to ignore Sherlock's orders for the sake of meeting someone new. "Mrs. Hudson, come on in... _Oh, hello._ " John's face lit up when he finally looked at Gwen, his hand stretching out to greet her.

Gwen smiled when she noticed that John had held out his left hand. She'd broken her left arm after all, so she was thankful and slightly pitiful of John when he noticed and flushed red before swapping hands and muttering an apology. "You must be John..." Gwen greeted warmly, not missing Sherlock muttering under his breath in the kitchen from the corner of her eye. "Shut up you, and stop sulking like a child." She chided as Sherlock turned away from her fully which only caused her to scoff at her behaviour.

She turned back to John when she realised she was still holding his hands, "Oh, sorry." She let go as Mrs. Hudson began to filter around the room, collecting a scarce tea tray and several plates. "And you are?" She looked back at John after he'd spoken and remembered she had neglected to introduce herself to him.

"I'm Gwen Chevalier, I've been renting 221C for a while now..." Gwen explain with a soft shrug of her shoulders before gesturing to her arm. "But you know how duty is, forever needing fulfillment."

John's eyes lit up at her words as he crossed his arms, "You've served?" He couldn't help but find it slightly intriguing to know that she'd served in the British army because, well, she didn't appear the type.

"Afghanistan." Sherlock called out from the kitchen.

Gwen rolled her eyes, "Until I got shot."

"And almost died." Sherlock added.

Peering around the corner into the kitchen, Gwen stared at the back of Sherlock's head until he turned to face her, having felt her eyes burning holes in his head. "I did not almost die." She stared at him as he watched her before scoffing and turning away again. Turning back to John, Gwen sighed deeply. "Lieutenant General before you ask. Special forces."

"Ah, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." John replied as Gwen smiled at him again.

"Medical Corps too?"

John returned her smile, "Yes." He gestured for her to sit down in his chair but his eyes widened when she neglected his offer and sat herself in Sherlock's prized armchair, a hint of a smirk on her lips. John knew then that she'd be good for both him and Sherlock, without any doubt.

Mrs. Hudson looked over at Gwen, "Cup of tea, dear?" She asked, wandering over towards the kettle as John noted that she always refused to make him a cup of tea, insisting she was not his _housekeeper_ , as she liked to put it.

"Oh, yes please." Gwen smiled at the woman, her eyes trailing back to Sherlock who was charging back and forth before her, his back to her with his arms folded in defiance. "Sherlock, please stop sulking." He was a grown man, and sulking at her return - the cheek of it! He had complained about her leaving, and now she had returned to him, he was pushing her away... all those years lost in a single decision. One she didn't want to make, one she didn't have a choice in...

Scoffing, Sherlock threw his head over his shoulder to spare her a quick flash of his eyes in bitterness. "I am not sulking, I am merely finding myself to be still rather annoyed with Guinevere's selfish deeds." He dramatised with a loud sigh in disbelief, tapping his foot impatiently.

Gwen closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "How many times did I apologise to you?"

Sherlock visibly bristled at her reply, closing his eyes in frustration. "You left in the middle of a case. How selfish of you..." He grumbled in vexation, still not facing her in his stubbornness.

"Sherlock, don't be so rude." Mrs. Hudson scolded from where she stood in the kitchen, her hands resting firmly upon her hips despite have stuck her hand in a jar of eyeballs... Belonging to God knows what.

Scoffing in outrage, Sherlock clasped his hands together before wheeling around on his feet. " _Rude?_ Let me explain this plainly to you Mrs. Hudson considering it may be a bit difficult for you to comprehend in that plain little brain of yours..." Sherlock spat, his eyes slithering to Gwen, who sat patiently watching in, her head tilted as she awaited his outburst. "Guinevere has returned after _months_ and has ruined my plans; she will question my acts and rationality unlike John. She complicates my lifestyle." He emphasised, almost sounding as though he was in pain by her sheer return, as though she had caused grievous bodily harm to him. "I won't stand having to share my living space with someone that intolerable."

Drumming her hands upon the arm of the chair, Gwen let out a sigh. "Are you quite finished?"

Sherlock rounded on her, glowering. "Get out."

Gwen rose to her feet, holding herself steady as he stalked towards her. "Stop being so over-dramatic, dear, it doesn't suit you." Gwen spoke in a hushed tone, enjoying seeing his face contort in mild fury.

 _"Get out_."

Looking between the pair stood defiantly before them, John folded his arms over his chest in disappointment. "Sherlock Holmes stop being so rude!" John bellowed, marching over to stand between them; he sent his new friend a steady but heated glance. "You should be grateful she's back, you utter cock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the insult but once again turned his attention back to the woman stood behind John, scowling at him in disapproval. "You've lost a considerable amount of weight, haven't you? One hundred and twenty-six pounds, but then I suppose that's what Afghanistan does to a person." He hissed, moving to circle her, his eyes trailing over her he calculated the changes since he last saw her. "Injury, shot by an L9A1 semi-automatic pistol, 9mm parabellum. Your humerous bone shattered, leading to extensive surgery and bone grafts to repair it." Sherlock concluded gracefully, his feet slowing in their movements so he came to a soft stop before her, clasping his hands behind his back. "I amaze myself."

Gwen smiled a small, sympathetic smile. "Congratulations, my dear Holmes." She licked her lips and allowed a sigh to pass her lips, her eyes flickered to John who was staring at the pair of them with interest. "I've read your blog by the way, rather fascinating. Do you desire to murder him yet?" She gestured to Sherlock as John shook his head in amusement.

Sherlock, however, found no amusement in Gwen's return. "Unlike yourself, John understands the necessity that comes with my profession, Guinevere." He stepped towards her, the curls of his bouncing which, to his annoyance, roused another small smile from his old companion. "You're mundane and not worth my time, so get out. Leave."

With a clank, Mrs. Hudson set down the cup and saucer and scowled at Sherlock, pointing her finger at him in her own outrage. "How dare you treat her in this, Sherlock! Gwen is your friend. _Your friend_... How could you be so cruel? You've missed her; now, you have her back don't ruin your friendship through sour parting of ways." The landlady advised, her gaze softening considerately at the Detective.

Sherlock stared at her, "You silly little woman..."

Gwen's eyes narrowed at Sherlock as she blinked before she reeled back her knee and sent it directly into his crouch in her own frustration.

The Detective doubled over in pain, clutching the area as he gave out short gasps, gritting his teeth as he looked up at her through a half-lidded gaze. "What was that for?" He breathed, wheezing.

"For insulting me, _your friend,_ and for evidently distressing Mrs Hudson." Gwen straightened herself, eyeing him dubiously. "Now, I suggest you be more pleasant or I'll honour you again. Mrs. Hudson, forget the tea; I'll need something stronger."

Gathering himself, Sherlock sighed. "Didn't you hear me, Gwen?" He pressed, his tone incredulous as the woman still stood before him, defiantly so.

Her eyes hardened as she pressed on, knowing the only way to subdue Sherlock Holmes was to out-talk him. "Oh, I heard you. I just didn't particularly choose to listen to your whining." She ground out through gritted teeth as she heard John snort from behind her.

Mrs. Hudson, to her unwavering credit, had ignored his comments. "Sherlock, where are your manners?" She persisted in urgency as he hissed.

"He never had them." Gwen's eyes flew back to the Detective, who was staring at her in something more than just anger... Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Sighing, she clenched her jaw in warning. "I will hit you again."

Brow furrowed in frustration, Sherlock sent her one last glared before marching across the room to charge through a door at the end of the hall, and then promptly slamming his door. John's mouth fell agape at the response, his eyes trailing to the woman who stood staring after Sherlock Holmes. "You just sent Sherlock Holmes to his room."

Gwen shook her head in her own disbelief at the triumph, although she did internally admit she felt astonishingly guilt at having done so. "I did. A rather remarkable fea t if I do say so myself..."

Scratching the back of his head, feeling slightly at a loss for words, he let out a breathless laugh of shock. "Could we exchange notes?" He sent her an amused smile before sinking into his own armchair, reclining with the knowledge that Sherlock wouldn't bother him for a good while.

* * *

When John had trudged up the stairs, he wasn't surprised to find Sherlock sprawled across the sofa, sulking in silence as he returned from a lunch date that gave him the opportunity to get to know Gwen better. When the Detective saw him, he tugged his dressing gown tighter around himself and turned away.

"I like Gwen... She's eerily similar to you, but I like her." John announced as he sunk into the welcoming depths of his chair, sending his friend a bemused glance when he saw him peeking over his shoulder, obviously interested in what he had to say. "I just don't understand why you had to be so rude to her."

Sherlock groaned in vexation as he sat up. "She can't be here... She'll- she'll interfere with my work, _with everything_... bother me when I think!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in complete and utter despair. She would reprimand him just like Mrs. Hudson and question everything. "Oh, just look at you. You're all over her, smitten with the woman who lives downstairs, ugh." He scorned in disbelief, throwing himself back into the sofa.

John frowned, wanting to know why their friendship had gone so sour when Gwen seemed absolutely lovely to him. "What happened, Sherlock?" He prompted as he watched him scratch his head furiously with both hands in thought.

"I suppose I could always be adventurous and meddle with..." Sherlock paused when he caught John watching, and he rolled his eyes. "Particular things." He concluded, desperately stretching his brain to find a way to send Gwen away again. He had just sorted everything out again; it was perfect, _had been_ , and now it was messy and disturbed again. _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

"Don't you even consider it, Sherlock." John chided as Sherlock frowned furiously. "She's your friend, don't you dare."

Scowling, Sherlock turned his back on John again and huffed into the back of the sofa, muttering under his breath.

John sighed, regretting his choice of words. "What happened between you two?" He wondered aloud.

"I don't want to talk about it." Sherlock's voice was muffled as he spoke, and John decided to press further, intrigued by the complexity of their friendship.

He opened his mouth to speak when a very daunting thought popped into his mind, leaving him stuck at war with his consciousness. "Sherlock... Did you, I mean, do you have..."

"No!" Sherlock jumped up from his place on the sofa, shaking his head furiously in retaliation at John's suggestion. "Don't be absurd, John! How could you even..." He never finished because he was soon stalking off in the direction of his room, his gown billowing behind him as John sat back in his chair, grinning to himself as he cracked the mysterious behaviour.

Reaching for the forgotten newspaper from earlier that morning, John opened it and mused to himself as his smile grew. "If that isn't a crush, Sherlock Holmes, I don't know what is." He wondered if Mrs. Hudson knew, and if not, he would certainly tell her. Just for a laugh at Sherlock's expense.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was upset. She understood that, she respected that... but she didn't necessarily like it. He was a grown man, and he insisted on electing to prance around like a small child in a forgotten playground, running from the parents to continue playing. She never expected to be welcomed back with open arms or for him to be pleased to see her again. She expected to be treated better.

Whenever she went upstairs to their flat; John would greet her; John would make her a tea; John would talk with her; John would smile and John would be what she _expected_ Sherlock to be. It... it hurt her, to know that someone she once knew to be a very close friend, didn't want to know her, that he didn't care. She couldn't bear it.

"Are you all right, dear?" came the worried voice of Mrs. Hudson as Gwen paused and looked around.

She smiled at the landlady, "I'm hoping bribery will work with the old chap, but I doubt it." she gestured to the object under her arm, though she wasn't confident Sherlock would even open it.

"Good luck?" Mrs. Hudson called as she hurried out the front door, furiously tying her coat.

Sighing, Gwen jogged up the flight of stairs, hoping to catch Sherlock and speak with him civilly. But she narrowed her chances down to be ridiculously slim at the moment.

Straightening herself and catching her breath, she rapped on the door, glancing at her watch briefly. She smile when she heard muffled voices; John was trying to persuade Sherlock, who she who guessed, wasn't to be moved. When the door swung open to reveal a tired John Watson, Gwen smiled widely. "Hello, John."

John returned her smile, "Gwen! Come on in..." he stepped aside but she remained where she was.

"Sorry," Gwen apologised softly. "I, um, I can't stay - I only came to drop off a belated present for Curls. So, yeah..."

Gingerly, he accepted the brown package from her, he frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to come in for a cuppa?" he offered, wanting her to come in.

Gwen shook her head, "No, best not... just tell _him_ I'm sorry."

John gave a reluctant nod of his head. "All right. See you later then." Closing the door, he sighed and wandered back into the living room. "Sher- "

"Is she gone?"

Rolling his eyes, John saw the Consulting Detective poked his head around the kitchen door. "Yes, Gwen has left; you can come out of hiding, Curls."

Sherlock scowled at him as he slumped upon the sofa, sinking into its depths, arms folded defiantly. "Don't call me that." he snapped.

Looking at the package in his hand, John sent Sherlock a pitiful glance. "You can't hide from her forever."

"And she can't stay here forever." Sherlock sat up and sighed irritably. His gaze narrowed when his eyes fell on what John was holding. "What did she want anyway?"

"To give you a present."

Sherlock's brow perked. "What is it?"

John offered him the package, urging him to take it. "Have a look..." John insisted, dropping into Sherlock's awaiting lap as he continued to scowl at him lightly.

Despite his initial repulsion, he found his fingers were eager to seek the paper's edge and were soon gently tugging, yanking the paper free to reveal a rather beautiful surprise he hadn't expected. "Ah..." he also neither expected to feel so more guilt at seeing its body glisten in the light, shining in its pristine condition; a violin was a way to his heart, and he knew, he knew that Gwen knew that.

John looked up from his armchair, " _What?_ What is it?"

Immediately, Sherlock erupted into the air, glowering in disdain. "This isn't fair. She's cheated."

Setting down his tea, he watched as his friend stared incredulously at the gift with wide eye. "Sherlock, what are you on about?" John let out in his own annoyance at how silly he was being, how selfish.

Sherlock scoffed, "... Irish Baroque..." he muttered.

"A violin... and?"

Sherlock rounded on him and snarled, "This is what she does, John! She plays these games to make me feel guilty for the way I've treated her." he ranted on in utter outrage, overcome with sheer irritation at the lengths she was willing to go to if she was to earn his trust again. John also noted that he looked positively distraught at the revelation. " _This isn't fair!_ "

John sent him a knowing look, "Love does- "

"It isn't love, John!" Sherlock hissed, glancing toward the door whilst speaking in hushed tones which roused a chuckle from John. "Absolutely not!" he licked his armchair in vexation.

"You're either in denial or possibly deluded if you ask me."

"No, John." Sherlock folded his arms across his chest as his gaze flickered to the violin. He shook his head slightly, ruffling his head of curls. "Guinevere thinks that she can make everything better by buying me... presents... _bribes_."

"For Heaven's sake, Sherlock!" John snorted in outrage, hardly believing Sherlock was actually sulking - _a grown man!_ It was still quite new to him but nonetheless, it seem remained rather amusing. "It's a gift for goodness sake!"

Sherlock, however, nudged past John in his outburst, the pads of his feet echoing on the floor as he paced back and forth. He knew he was over-thinking this entire situation but it didn't lessen the way he felt in the slightest. "Don't you see?! She's trying to lure me- " he practically stamped his foot in protest at Gwen's simple, and what John believed, harmless gesture. "I won't stand for it, John."

John, honestly, didn't know what all the fuss was about. "It was just a bloody present, Sherlock."

Sherlock let out a hollow laugh. "I know what it is, John. I'm not blind. _Bribery_." he reached for the instrument and passed it over to John who goggled it silently. "You have it, look at it... whatever, I don't care."

John slowly looked up at him, a deep frown pulling across his face in slow realisation. "What would I do with it? I can't play- "

"Oh, you're right." Sherlock told him bitterly, throwing it back down on the sofa. "Seems pointless wasting it on you."

John observed with interest, "So, you're going to keep it then?"

Sherlock made a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat.

"What now?" John pressed, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock bristled and turned away from him stubbornly. "You can invite her for dinner..." he mumbled although John heard him, almost choking on the air as he registered the words.

John stared at him. "You're joking- "

"Bloody hell, John!" Sherlock exclaimed impatiently, feeling his annoyance finally getting the better of him. "You want me to be polite, there's polite!"

John gaped at him in utter shock. "You're going to cook something?"

Scoffing, Sherlock whipped around to look at him ludicrously. "Don't be so stupid, John. Why would I waste my time prating about in my lab..."

" _Kitchen._ " John corrected, shuddering at him referring to their shared living area as a laboratory, which he found, would most likely always unsettle him. "You want me to cook then?"

"Don't be so shallow, I'm not going to have you waste your talents."

John sent him a small smile. "Was that a compliment?"

Turning away once again, Sherlock clenched his jaw in frustration. "Don't get sentimental, it doesn't suit you."

Moving towards a draw, John began to riffle through its contents, picking out several flyers and waving them in the air. "Take out?" Sherlock screwed his nose up and John rolled his eyes. "How about I book us a reservation at that nice restaurant Mrs. Hudson was on about, I'm sure she'd want to- "

"She can't, _she's busy_."

"All right." John set the flyers down and stared at him, perplexed at the odd behaviour a genius like Sherlock was exhibiting. Never would he have guessed. "What about- "

Sherlock sent John a firm look. "Don't even suggest my brother, John."

Reaching for his mobile, John sighed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "All right, fine. A table for three it is..." he dialed the number quickly and looked over at Sherlock and cringed at his clothes. His white shirt as flecks of blood stained over the material, under his nails and a small splash just under his chin. He was a horrible mess. "Don't you think you should change?"

"What's wrong with my clothing?

* * *

Tugging her jacket around herself tightly, Gwen glanced around briefly before she reached in the post box and withdrew the brown envelope, turning it over in her hand before shoving it into the confines of wool.

Carrying herself along the street, she surveying the life momentarily, making sure to keep her wits about her. She halted in her movements and stared. A phone was ringing out... inside an empty phone booth. Watching it closely, she peeled her eyes away and continued.

As she passed another phone booth, it rang out and she glanced at it curiously before yanking the door open and pulled it off its hook irritably. Holding it to her ear, she waited silently.

"Good afternoon, Guinevere." the voice purred in her ear, and Gwen found herself smiling when she recognised the voice.

Smirking, Gwen glanced around herself and sighed deeply. "Oh, how lovely it is to hear your voice, darling. Always makes me tingle with excitement..." she let out, knowing that the person on the other end of the phone would undoubtedly grow uncomfortable at her innuendo.

"Get in the car, my dear." just as he finished speaking, a sleek black car slid up beside the booth, its windows tinted and glistening black.

Gwen frowned, eyeing the car. "Unfortunately, you don't own me." she let out, hearing him chuckle on the other end before replying.

"Gui-"

"MyMy." she interrupted playfully.

"Don't call me that." the voice had grown disturbingly stern and low that it made her shudder at the tone.

The voice, however, continued to talk over her, cutting her off easily enough. "Don't order me about, dear." it threatened distastefully, before lowering the tone until the voice drifted softly into her ear. "Please, get in the car."

Gwen smiled in amusement, "Oh, I didn't even have to ask... You've gone soft." she hung up and stepped out of the booth to be met with a woman, whose eyes were glued to the screen of her phone. Gwen frowned as she came to stop before her. "You're new; you didn't work for him the last time he demanded my presence... what's your name?" she pressed as the woman finally looked up with a bored expression. Gwen sighed. "Let me rephrase that; what do you refer to yourself as?"

"Anthea."

Gwen's brow rose in suspicion as she eyes the car dubiously. "Well, _Anthea_ , you can tell your most charming superior that he does not own me; I am no bound to him, and if he requires to chirp at me, he knows where to find me."

Anthea glanced up from her mobile, "I must insist- "

Gwen sent the woman a bored look, folding her arms over her chest in disapproval. "I insist that you tell Mycroft Holmes to become a field agent, and seek me out himself." Gwen rolled her eyes in frustration, "All right, but he has half an hour and nothing more." she told the woman as she slid inside, the door clicking behind her after the woman joined her.

As the car pulled away smoothly, she sat silently and awaited the meeting of the man she had found herself looking forward to seeing again.

It was long before they pulled into what appeared to an abandoned warehouse. Sighing at the usually scenery, Gwen stepped out of the car as she was met by two armed men. Raising her hands into the air, she waited as she was patted down briefly for weapons. They withdrew the brown envelope, and Gwen rolled her eyes.

Finally when they let her, she stepped into the storage room and smiled. There was an empty chair with a lone figure leaning casually against his umbrella waiting for her. "So dramatic, just like your brother, darling." she called to him, swinging her arms as she came to stop beside the chair. As usual, he was donned in a suit and dressed astutely. "You've lost more hair."

Mycroft scowled at her immediately, "You look well, Guinevere."

"Sarcasm never was your strong suit, Mycroft." Gwen spoke as he arched an eyebrow.

He shifted on his feet and frowned at her. "You're not healthy for him." Mycroft drawled, smiling sadly although to Gwen it looked more like a sneer. "And I'll be keeping that envelope of yours, too."

"Oh, _Mr. Grumpy Gills_ , why not have me removed?"

Mycroft's lips thinned at her use of yet another nickname. "Come now, my dear. We both know I'm cleverer than my brother." his brow furrowed when Gwen snorted at his comment. He recoiled, clenching his jaw in distaste. "Sherlock is overly fond of you."

Gwen stared him and couldn't help but feel as though Mycroft was jealous of her sharing her living space with Sherlock. "Oh, stop scorning me, Myc." she pursed her lips in amusement, "You make it sound as though it's indecent."

Mycroft gritted his teeth. "Don't call - "

Gwen cut him off, shrugging at his annoyance. "I spend that time, in their flat, having excessive amounts of tea with John Watson as your brother insists on sulking. It seems the pair of you have that in common." she reasoned in acknowledgement as Mycroft bristled at her words, obviously not agreeing with her observation.

"First of all darling, my name is Mycroft. My- croft, not _Myc_ or _Grumpy Gills_ or _MyMy_. And second, what if I were to mention Zurich to Sherlock?" he challenged, his eyes flashing as her face remained blank to his irritation.

She smirked at the threat, folding her arms over her chest as the elder Holmes brother stalked towards her, his frown still pulling at his face. "I believe I was the one to make that threat last time. I'm almost obliged to agree with you, but I find myself wondering when you became so cruel, _Myc_." As he came to stop before her, she poked his chest.

His eyes wandered down to her hand, recoiling, he stepped away from her. "You need to stop his interest in you." he advised, clasping his hands in front of him as he loomed over her.

She sighed, looking down as she pinched her nose in frustration. "Then send me away again, and perhaps, _perhaps_ , this time I'll be killed." Gwen informed him as she saw his face fall slightly at her words. She _did_ almost die little over a month ago. " _You_ got me out of there because _you_ wanted me to keep an eye on him and John Waston anyway. That was _your_ choice not mine, because _you_ knew what would've happened to me if he found out."

Mycroft nodded. "To which you declined."

"I have morals, Mycroft." she spoke as he smiled tightly, and she let out a sigh of defeat and against her better judgement relented. "However, that doesn't mean I'm not grateful."

He scoffed in disbelief, "Really... well, hopefully you'll consider my offer." he added, turning away from her.

Gwen cleared her throat and sighed, watching as he marched away from her, his umbrella clicking at his did. "You don't own me, dear. I'll see you around I hope, send my love to mummy!" she called to him in good nature as he momentarily stopped to look back at her, a small smile on his lips.

"Gwen, you're playing a dangerous game."

She smirked. "Aren't we all?"

* * *

After jumping her bag up in 221C, she trudged back to march up to the apartment when she could the boy's discussion from downstairs. As she approached, she could hear John's voice: "... pink lady, pink case, pink phone... there was a lot of pink." he was obviously talking about his blog, which she knew wouldn't settle well with Sherlock. "Did you like it?"

"Erm, no." came Sherlock's emotionless response.

Gwen strode into their living room and Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning away immediately. "It practically boasts your intellect, rather unusual for a sociopath if you ask me." she teased as his head whipped around to stare at her.

"Excuse me?" he growled.

Gwen, however, ignored him as looked over to John. "Don't waste your time, John. Flattery won't make it through that ego of his. Sherlock see through everyone and everything in a matter of moments." she paused as her eyes flowed over to see the other man watching her closely in intrigue, and she smiled sympathetically. "What's astounding, to say the least, that he dismisses significant small things."

"I didn't mean it like..." John tried to protest but Sherlock cut him off out of his own irritation.

"Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way?" Sherlock hissed, mocking down as he sunk into the sofa, rolling away, sulking once again. "How else did you mean it, John? Who cares who's the Prime Minister or who's sleeping with who or - "

"Whether the Earth orbits the Sun?" Gwen offered in amusement as Sherlock scowled at her.

"It's not significant, Gwen! It's not important!"

John gaped in shock, like a guppy gasping for air. "Wait... Not import- Are you..." he trailed off as Gwen snorted, earning a glare from Sherlock for doing so. "It's _Primary_ school stuff! How can you not know that?"

"I've deleted it!" Sherlock exclaimed in his frustration. "John, this is my hard drive, and to me, it only makes sense to put things that will be useful in there." he looked between Gwen and John as they both watched him. "Ordinary people fill their head with all sorts of rubbish, they can't access the important stuff that way."

John shook his head and scoffed at the news at the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes. "It's the Solar System! Gwen! Tell him!"

"Oh, what does that matter?" Sherlock fumed in his vexation, swinging his legs over the sofa. "So we go around the Sun! If we went around the moon, or round and round the garden, like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make it any difference! Only work matters to me, John. Without that my brain rots." he finally paused and his gaze fell upon John heatedly. "Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." and with that he turned away and into the confines of the sofa once more.

Gwen frowned. "John, he didn't mean it." she knew the damage had already been and John rose from his chair and straightened himself.

John smiled tightly and shook his head in disbelief. "Yes, he did."

As he crossed the room, Sherlock glanced up and observed. "Where are you going?" he demanded outright.

"Out."

"Reservations John!" Sherlock exclaimed in outrage.

But John shoved him off as continued to leave, "Piss off!"

Silence fell in the room and Sherlock looked to the female and sighed when he found her watching him. "John made reservations." he explained softly which shocked her.

"What for?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Dinner reservations."

Gwen nodded in understanding, a frown briefly crossing her face. "Oh, all right... and?" she gestured for him to continue.

Sherlock sighed and searched the back of head in awkwardness. "It was meant to be for the three of us..." he tried quietly as he felt her eyes on him.

"Do you want to go?" she asked, not expecting him to agree to venture out for dinner.

His answer did not disappoint when he frowned deeply. "No."

Gwen nodded in acknowledgement, "All right, then." She knew Sherlock would rather forget the entire thing.

Sherlock's brow arched in interest and couldn't help but wonder if she wanted to go. "Do you want to go?" he ventured lightly.

Gwen shrugged and sighed in thought, "Not fussed."

Sherlock declared: "We'll go then."

* * *

Sherlock was never one for fine dining, that was Mycroft's luxury. Give him a kebab any day. He doubted that Gwen liked fine dining either from her expression as they stepped through the threshold. He also didn't want her to think this was something it was not. It wasn't a date. Her don't do dates. _Too_ _sentimental_.

Glancing around them at all the tables lined and fortified with couples, she inwardly cringed at the sight. "Well, this is fancy." she managed, sparing a look at Sherlock who hadn't looked anywhere but in front of him.

"Fancy for John." he muttered, hoping it was inaudible for her to hear.

Gwen rolled her eyes at his stubbornness. "And you? Is this too fancy for _you_?" she propositioned with an arched brow, genuinely intrigued.

Sherlock looked her at her. "What?"

"Would you take someone here on a date?" she rephrased as they were clocked by a waiter.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at her in warning, "Guinevere, this is not a date." he attempted to denounce coolly, his voice sounding oddly strained.

"I never said that it was, I merely asked for your approval." Gwen told him irritably as he looked away finally, turning his attention to the only booth left. "Would you rather go to that Chinese restaurant you like?" she wondered, knowing he'd probably prefer it to the place they'd landed themselves isolated in. Was this John's idea of a cruel joke? _No, John wasn't a cruel man._

"After Shan, no thank you."

"Fancy it is then." Gwen breathed as the waiter finally met them in a march.

Sherlock straightened himself, puffing out his chest which Gwen didn't miss. "Table for two under the name Holmes." he announced, hearing her chuckle from the side of him. He wished she wouldn't do that.

The man before them frowned as he looked down at the bookings, "We actually have three booked in that name, sir." When he looked up, he saw the panicked look on Sherlock's face.

"Yes, well- " he begun.

"The third had to cancel short notice." Gwen answered easily, cutting Sherlock off with ease.

"That makes sense, madam." he smiled an grabbed two menus from the stand beside him. "If you'll follow me to your table... As you can see, we're very busy this evening." he babbled away whilst leading them to their table, though neither were taking much interest in whatever he was saying.

"Really, I hadn't noticed." he remarked dryly, earning amid he on the ribs from Gwen. "He thinks it's a date. Do you think it's a date?" he asked under his breath, looking at her quickly.

She shook her head, "No."

Sherlock looked at her curiously, wanting to know what she thought, but also knowing that she would never tell him honestly. "Would you want it to be?" he asked suddenly as her eyes surveyed him carefully, not giving anything away.

Gwen tilted her head at him, "You're bold for assuming I'm pining after you. How conceited of you." Did she want it to be a date? _Yes._

When they arrived at the booth, the waiter turned to the pair of them with a tight smile, obviously having heard their discussion. "I'll be back over shortly to take your orders." he rushed away, not bothering to pull out Gwen's chair for her which Sherlock noted. Neither did he.

" _Well?_ " Sherlock demanded when he was out of earshot.

Gwen smirked to herself, opening her menu and not meeting his gaze. "I prefer your brother." When she did look up, she laughed at the horrified expression that had befallen his face.

Taking his own menu it's his hands, he bristled and she smiled at having ruffled his feathers. "Why? Because he takes you out on dates?" he muttered irritably.

Gwen sighed and set her menu down. "Mycroft is void of affection, Sherlock." she explained, though she didn't miss the odd persistence of the elder Holmes brother. "But no, because he still likes me." she explained to her own surprise, not realising she was going to tell him that.

Sherlock looked up immediately at that. He was drowning when their eyes met. "I never said I didn't like you, Gwen." he told her earnestly before returning to his hard exterior. "You've seen Mycroft then..."

She smiled at the comment. "You know how dramatic he is." she peered at the paper again and waited.

Sherlock's eyes looked at her again. "So do you like him?"

"I enjoy him."

Sherlock looked down again. " _Hmm..._ " he made a noise in distaste which earned a glare from her.

Gwen sat back in her chair and looked at him properly, "What now, Curls?"

He stared at her for a long moment and wondered to himself as he looked at her. She wasn't interested in his brother, he knew that. Gwen only said those things to annoy him. He could wonder though. "And me... do you like me?" The unknowing had been annoying him endlessly.

"I- " she started to reply but was interrupted but that bothersome waiter that Sherlock decided he didn't like _at_ _all_.

He looked between the pair of them, "Which wine would you prefer, sir?"

Sherlock don't even spare him a glance, "Gewürztraminer." he managed through gritted teeth, noting that Gwen was, once again, smirking.

Once he turned away and strode off, she looks to Sherlock, leaning forward on her hand. "Oh, you know how to spoil a girl." she batted her lashes as he recoiled at the response.

Looking down at the menu again, Sherlock asked out of bitterness: "What wine does Mycroft prefer to spoil you with?"

"Please stop." Gwen let out tersely, sending him a deep frown of distress. They were both as bad as one another for seeking triumph over the other constantly. Always trying to outdo one another. Always trying to seeking approval. Both bloody annoying. "I don't care for your sibling rivalry." How more plainly could she put it? But then again, Sherlock was always the more emotional one, so it made sense.

Sherlock sulked and set down his menu, sending her a pointed look. "Well, _you_ go on _his_ coffee dates." he accused, looking away childishly.

Gwen gaped in disbelief, finding his pride to something of envy instead. Reasoning with herself, she sighed in composure. "It's Mycroft, the Ice Man. _Ice Man_. Be serious, Sherlock." Mycroft, I'm all the time she had known, had shown her any form of affection - why wouldn't Sherlock understand that? _It's Mycroft!_ "I'd stand a better chance with his umbrella." It was true, the umbrella would be easier to seduce than the plank who carried it.


	4. Chapter 4

Starting up the stairs, Gwen stepped into the living room and frowned when she found John wasn't sat in his usual spot. Sherlock was lounged on the sofa, swinging a firearm through his fingers. "Still not back yet?"

Sherlock looked up momentarily, "Does it look like it?" he glanced away when he saw Gwen's face shift entirely, her eyes forming into slits as she ignored him and went into the kitchen. "A cup of tea, please!"

Gwen sighed and grabbed a second cup and sat it down on the counter loudly.

"I apologise."

She looked to her side and saw his head peering around the corner. "Well, it was your fault." Gwen told him, flicking the switch down on the kettle and turning to face him with her arms folded. "I don't appreciate you taking it out on me either."

Sherlock sighed and set the firearm down on the table. "I didn't mean it like that... it just happens." he moved closer and she remained resilient in her position. "I just..." he went to speak but was interrupted by the voice of Mrs. Hudson echoing through the flat, causing him to bolt away.

"Yoo-ooh! Only me." she hooted, stepping through the door as she smiled brightly. Moving into the kitchen, she beamed when she saw Gwen making tea. "Hello, Gwen dear."

Gwen sent her a warm smile, "Hello, Mrs. Hudson."

The older woman looked to Sherlock, and sighed when she couldn't find John. "Did you two have a little domestic?" she asked aloud, frowning deeply at the sight of his empty armchair.

Gwen came to her rescue and grabbed the bags of shopping from her, and sent Sherlock a pointed look. "And now they're both sulking. How masculine of them..." Sherlock continued to sulk at her words, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at his looked over at her, tilting his head. "Gwen, just because John is easily insulted by what is _reality_ , does not mean either of us are sulking." Gradually, very gradually, she was starting to frustrate him. Not because she was being persistently annoyingly, but because he found he was struggling to read her as he was once able to. He was losing his touch... or she was hiding something. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't like it. It unsettled him.

Sitting up briefly, he stared as Gwen placed his cup on the coffee table before hugging her own. As she came to stand before him, he frowned again. _... ?_. Why couldn't he see it anymore? What had changed?

"That's your pride talking, Curls." Gwen commented dryly.

"He's been gone a long while, and it's nippy out there." Mrs. Hudson mused over John, looking between Sherlock and Gwen in slightly worry. "He should have wrapped himself up a bit more."

Gwen touched Mrs. Hudson's arm in comfort. "I'm sure John's fine."

Standing up immediately, Sherlock turned to face the window and scowled. "He is a grown man in case you hadn't noticed..." his eyes surveyed the street below as he continued to sulk. "Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful." Gwen watched him in slight amusement. "Isn't it _hateful_?"

Gwen sighed when her eyes fell upon the face on the wall and she couldn't help but wonder what would be the landlady's reaction to the sight. "Pleasant to others, Curls." she reasoned softly, sipping her tea.

"Oh, I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up!"

Gwen gaped at the older woman who had just called murder " _nice"_ and found herself smiling. Only Mrs. Hudson would say such a thing. "Can't come soon enough to stop this ongoing sulking."

"Did you have a nice time out?"

Gwen looked to Sherlock as she saw his reflection watching her through the window. "It was very nice, thank you. Apart from the fact I spent most of the time allowing my meal to go cold in order to answer his bleating, and I had to pay for it which, in all honestly, wasn't _that_ surprising." she divulged as Mrs. Hudson's mouth fell open before she rounded on Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock!" she breathed in disappointment at his idleness. "You really ought to be a gentleman!"

"That'll be the day."

Sherlock turned around then, watching her with an incredulous gaze. "Oh, don't start this again." he let out in utter frustration, pointing the firearm at her lazily, making Mrs. Hudson shriek at the sight of it. "If you want to have a sickeningly _normal_ and _boring_ dinner, I suggest you consult my dull brother."

 _"See_. His bravado is just consuming his brain. Poisonous toxins, Curls." Gwen ignored his waving of the gun and rolled her eyes. "We didn't have to go out, I did say that."

Sherlock clenched his jaw and turned away in frustration. "Well, I felt obligated, didn't I?" if John hadn't forced it on him, then he wouldn't have made such a predicament – he could continue to act normally but now, _now_ , he was compromised. He hated it. _Hated it_. _Despised it. Loathed it._  
Gwen scoffed. "Poor you."

"Well mister, it's about time you did something nice for her since she got back. You've been nothing but rude." As she went to leave, she paused and a smirk appeared on Gwen's face when the landlady clocked the wall. "Hey! What have you done to my bloody wall?" she demanded in outrage as Sherlock turned and admired his work, smiling. "I'm putting this on your rent, young man!"

When she had stormed out, Gwen watched as Sherlock then proceeded to fire more shots at the mess in the wall, making it all the more worse. "I do recall mentioning that she would be reluctant in warming to your... artwork?" she made a face as Sherlock lowered the firearm and looked at her.

"What's wrong with it?"

Gwen smiled. "You're joking... you put several holes in the bloody wall!" she set down her cup and pushed herself off the side of the armchair, moving towards him.

He shrugged. "I think it's rather endearing." Sherlock stared at her as she shook her head at him, smiling softly. "What now?"

Gwen sighed, taking the gun from him to place it down on the table. "Only a sociopath path would find a yellow smiley face with gunshots _endearing_." Gwen explained as a grin broke out on his face.

He rolled his eyes at her and she continued to smile. He went to speak but was interrupted with an explosion.

He and Gwen were flung across the side of the room, falling to the floor as the windows shattered. Both of them groaned in pain. Sherlock, not bothering to move, was lying rather limply on top of Gwen.

She hissed when his head whacked the side of her shoulder as his arm dealt a blow to her. Sherlock groaned when he crumpled beneath her, his head ringing when it met her collarbone. He gritted his teeth, almost biting his tongue, when he knee hit a rather sensitive area.

Sherlock rolled off of her and looked to see her wincing in pain. "Are you all right, Gwen?"

"You have a very hard head for a sociopath, dear."

Sitting up, he reached her hands and pulled her to her feet, steadying her carefully as he watched her in concern. "Come on..." Wrapping an arm around her waist, he helped her over to the sofa.

* * *

Despite letting him check her over, Sherlock refused to let her do the same and she didn't press the matter any further. She did, however, find it immensely annoying when all of her clothes had been blow across her flat, dusty and stained with debris. They wouldn't be drying any time soon.

Sighing, she clutched the towel around her middle to hide herself tightly as she climbed the stairs to the boy's flat, walking straight in and ignoring the communal conference going on in the living room to walk to Sherlock's bedroom. "I'm borrowing a shirt until my clothes dry." Picking out his favourite purple one, she smirked as she put it on.

When she walked out, she smiled when she saw the three men staring at her in silence. John was back, and Sherlock was staring at her wide-eyed whilst... Mycroft was sat in John's chair watching her closely.

John rushed over to her, chucking the towel on the sofa. "Gwen, are you all right?" he pressed as he saw the mark on the side of her as well as the burn on her neck.

Gwen shook her head, "Sadly, most of the damage was sustained when someone opted to fall on me." she sent Sherlock a look but remained smiling.

Sherlock's eyes followed her as she strode into the kitchen to pour herself a drink. "You were in the way." His voice was eerily shaky as he took in her form in _his_ shirt. _His purple shirt_.

She sighed, walking back into the room slowly. "Who was the one flouncing around with a firearm admiring his handiwork?" she pointed out with a stern arched brow.

"Retribution for dinner, Guinevere."

Scoffing, Gwen shook her head at him. "By shooting a wall? _Piss off._ "

Sherlock smiled but immediately stiffened when she sat on the arm of his chair, and he went rigid when he caught his brother looking. Clearing his throat, he aimed to draw his attention back to him. "I can't." He didn't want Mycroft looking at her legs. He didn't want Mycroft looking at her at all.

Mycroft finally looked away from Gwen and frowned, "Can't?" he repeated as Sherlock continued to pluck at the strings of his violin.

Sherlock glanced sideward at Gwen as she crossed her legs. "The stuff, what I've got on, is too big. I can't spare the time." He looked back at his brother and shrugged.

Mycroft sighed in disapproval, "Never mind your usual trivia, this is of National importance." he scolded, trying to look everywhere and anywhere but in Gwen's direction.

She smiled. _Always so polite..._

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked mockingly as he continued to pluck the strings.

" _Fine_." Mycroft let out calmly, although it sounded like he was barely containing his anger as he looked to John suddenly. "Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

John frowned, evidently confused as he hadn't been paying attention. "What?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be quiet intransigent." Mycroft spoke.

Gwen frowned, folding her arms over her chest. "If you're so keen, why don't _you_ investigate it?" she prompted immediately, raising an eyebrow in question as Mycroft regarded her.

"No, no, no... No." He shook his head profusely, "I can't possibly be away from the office at any length of time – not with the Korean elections..." he trailed off, eyeing Gwen closely as she sent him a smile of amusement. "You don't need to know about that do you?" he smiled tightly and stared at her in warning.

Gwen lent forward, feeling Sherlock shift beside her. "Yet, _MyMy_ , you're here... lounging. How sociable of you, darling." she teased as his eyes flashed at her.

"Besides, a case like this requires..." he paused in thought, thinking for a moment. "... legwork."

"And we wouldn't want you to put yourself out, dearest." Gwen told him as Sherlock smirked softly.

Mycroft looked at her pointedly, finding his patience wearing very thing. "Guinevere, please refrain from your teasing." he warned lightly, his eyes surveying her silently as she tilted her head.

Gwen licked her lips, "But I enjoy it."

Mycroft grimaced at her. "And I do not."

" _Grumpy Gills_." Gwen stated in assured confidence as Sherlock snickered.

Sighing, Sherlock sat up and looked to John unexpectedly. "How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?" he looked over his friend and frowned suddenly.

Mycroft chuckled. "Sofa, Sherlock."

Gwen also said in unison: "Sofa. It was the sofa."

Sherlock's head snapped in her direction, and he looked her over briefly, much like Mycroft who was shaking his head slightly. "Oh yes, of course." he muttered, noticing his brother's appraisal of Gwen, looking back at John.

John looked at them all in bewilderment, frowning them in slight surprise despite knowing he should have expected nothing less. " _How_... oh, never mind." He sat himself on the coffee table, and gestured for Gwen to join him. She went to move but Sherlock grabbed her wrist and kept her in place.

Gwen sent him a look but Sherlock refused to look at her.

Mycroft looked over at John and smiled tightly. "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... _pals_." His voice was somewhat mocking as Gwen's eyes narrowed in suspicion, watching him as he spoke to John. Sherlock sent his brother a dark look. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine. That's why Guinevere needed a break."

Gwen frowned, still feeling Sherlock's grasp on her wrist. "Watch yourself, _Myc_." she warned steadily, her eyes glowing.

Mycroft smiled. "Watch your tongue, my dear."

John smiled sheepishly, "I'm, uh, never bored." He answered honestly, sending Gwen a smile as she returned it.

"Good. That's good, isn't it?" Mycroft smiled again, watching as Gwen passed Sherlock his bow.

Mycroft suddenly stood and held out a folder to Sherlock. When Sherlock turned his nose up at it, he clenched his jaw and turned to John instead. "Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant found dead on the tracks at Battersea station this morning with his smashed in."

"Jumped in front of the train?" John pressed, slightly surprised.

Mycroft shrugged. "Seems the logical assumption."

John smiled briefly, finding himself oddly confused. "But?"

" _But?_ " Mycroft repeated.

"Well, _dear Myc_ , you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident." Gwen explained as his head whipped in her direction, causing the elder brother to frown at her.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at her choice of words, almost scoffing. "The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce – Partington Programme, it's called." He looked back at Sherlock who was looking at Gwen's legs. "The plans for it were on a memory stick."

Gwen sighed, "That wasn't very clever, _MyMy_." Sherlock snorted at her retort.

"It's not the only copy." Mycroft replied, ignoring her. "But it _is_ secret. And missing."

" _Top_ _secret?"_ John wondered aloud.

Mycroft's eyes flew to Gwen. " _Very_. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." His eyes drifted to Sherlock and he sighed to his dismay.

"You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you." He told him warningly, his eyes flashing in a dangerous threat.

Sherlock let go of Gwen's wrist and looked up at his brother, "I'd like to see you try."

"I'd pay to see that." Gwen added.

Mycroft's brow quirked, "Think it over." His voice had a hint of warning to it, staring at his brother before turning to John to shake his hand. "Goodbye, John. See you very soon." John stood and accepted his hand and Mycroft smiled.

Turning to Gwen, he smiled widely. "Guinevere, lovely to see you as always, dear. I'll be in contact with you soon and don't keep me waiting." As he finished, Sherlock erupted into an annoying outburst of a sequence on the violin.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen rose to her feet. "I'll walk you out."

Sherlock threw his hands into the air, "Oh, for God sake!" he erupted in outrage, as they glanced back at him.

Gwen sent him a smile. "Pluck your strings, Curls."

As she left, John watched his friend as his stared after her, his eyes lingering before he immediately glanced away. "Oi, I saw that look." he told Sherlock in a hushed voice, shaking his head in amusement.

Sherlock's head snapped in his direction, his eyes looking him over critically. "What look?"

John stared in disbelief. "That lingering look."

"What lingering look?" Sherlock repeated, utterly clueless.

John nodded knowingly, "Possessive... it's because she's wearing your shirt, isn't it?" he gestured to the door, hardly believing what he'd just witnessed.

Shaking his head, Sherlock turned his attention back to his violin. "You're seeing things."

John snorted in disagreement, "Either you _were_ looking or you have an eye impediment." He knew what he saw, and he wasn't stupid. Gwen was an attractive woman, he'd admit it but he knew Sherlock most definitely wouldn't.

Turning his attention back to his violin, he bristled. "I was not!"

"Yes, you were!"

Outside the door, Gwen winced when she heard them arguing and she looked at Mycroft, who handed her a white envelope. She didn't take it from him. "I am not interested."

"I have not asked anything of you." Mycroft pointed out, waving the envelope at her. "You have even read this yet either, dear."

She rolled her eyes, "But you're going to, _dear_ , that's the point." She honestly wasn't interested in working for him, at least not at the moment... not with him still at her back. She was still trying to find her feet.

Mycroft pretended to be hurt by her rejection, feigned disappointment. "So, you're saying that you would want to work for me?" he pressed, smiling at her.

"Not in so many words." Gwen offered decisively, biting the inside of her cheek.

Mycroft frowned, lowering the envelope. "Then what?"

"I want some _liberation_." She wasn't going to sign up for anything that would choke her. She wasn't going to sign away her life. "I want you to present me with something that is _attractive_ , something that I _want_ to have. Be adventurous and maybe, just maybe, I'll give in." Gwen sent him a wide smile as she saw him thinking it through, the cogs turning inside his head in thought.

"I'll consider it." Mycroft replied quietly, clenching his jaw tightly.

"You better, _MyMy_... see, you're more a man than you pretend to be." Her hand drifted over his back, following his shoulder blades as she stepped around him, amused by how rigid he'd grown. He recoiled away from her when she pressed a light kiss just above his jaw, causing heat to creep up his neck, turning his usual creamy skin salmon. "Show me the fire, and I might just let myself get burned."

Refusing to look at her, Mycroft coughed to clear his throat and made to leave. "Goodbye, my dear." He managed as he marched down the stairs hurriedly, not daring to look back.

Smiling to herself, Gwen turned and opened the door to see Sherlock and John sat simmering in an awkward silence. "A date is it? Some fancy French restaurant..." Sherlock demanded when he looked up at her.

Sitting herself in John's empty chair, she sent him a glare as she crossed her legs. "Not this again, Curls."

"I bet you can't wait for him to take you one of those awaited coffee dates."

"Oh, I wish." Gwen shot him a look and eyed him curiously, clasping her hands together in thought. Sherlock was only saying such things because he was evidently jealous of her good rapport with his brother. "Anyway, it's _tea_." she added to her own amusement.

John frowned, slowly gathering his understanding as he realised that Sherlock believed that... that he...

"Wait, you and Mycro- "

Gwen lazily cut John off, wanting to put an end to the rumour that was nothing. It wasn't true. She and Mycroft were nothing. "No, John. There is no _we_ for Sherlock is assuming something out of nothing." She wasn't seeking a relationship, and if she was, why on Earth would they imagine her wanting one with Mycroft Holmes, the Ice Man? She would have liked to have a relationship in which the feel were openly reciprocated not hidden to avoid all form of emotion.

John still continued, genuinely interested in the subject of this rumoured relationship, wanted to know as much as possible. "Does Mycroft... _you know?_ " he sent Gwen a sly smile while she remained scowling at him in disapproval.

"Highly unlikely; he's incapable of human emotion."

John held her gaze firmly, "So, that little..."

Gwen smiled softly, tucking a loose strand of her behind her ear. "... is a normal occurrence, sorry to disappoint." She laughed to herself as John rose to his feet, folding his arms over his chest, persisting further.

"Any yet he enjoys your company."

"Terrifying, I know." Gwen mused.

Turning to look at Sherlock, who was staring incredulously at Gwen. "Why'd you lie? You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's _why_ the wall took a pounding." John asserted in perplexity, wondering what was the truth behind it all. "Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Why shouldn't I?"

Realisation rocked him suddenly as his mouth fell open. "Oh... nice, sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere." Sherlock ignored him and busied himself with his violin as John rounded on Gwen, still oddly bemused. "But you and Mycroft?"

Eyes flaring in warning, Gwen shot to her feet in fury at the questioning. "Oh, for goodness sake!" she turned away and crossed her arms in her anger whilst a soft ringing broke out in the air.

Reaching for his phone, Sherlock sighed. "Sherlock Holmes." He paused as his eyes lit up intensely in regards to whatever was being said on the other end. "Of course, how could I refuse?" He hung up abruptly and set his violin down. "Lestrade. I've been summoned."

He strode over to the door, turned and frowned back at John and Gwen. "Coming?" he asked John, whose face dropped in slightly surprise.

"If you want me to." John agreed hesitantly.

Reaching for his coat, Sherlock sighed. "Of course." He turned to look at him again and sighed before saying a subtle sarcasm: "I'd be lost without my blogger."

As John moved, Sherlock's gaze flickered to Gwen who remained sat, now in his chair in his shirt. "And you... are you coming? I- I mean, do you want to come?" Sherlock quizzed, tilting his head as he awaited her reply, secretly wishing she would agree.

"Do you want me to come?"

John closed his eyes in frustration. "Gwen."

"No, just say it, Curls." Gwen let out, string at the man before her, wanting him to openly admit that he needed her. She wanted to know her worth. "Sherlock, do you want me to come? It's a simple enough question, Curls." she informed testily.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't have asked you."

Gwen nodded: "So..." she prompted lightly, gesturing with a slight flick of her wrist for him to continue.

Defeat befalling, Sherlock's shoulder sagged. "Yes, yes I want you to come." He told her, finding it strangely alluring to see her dressed in _his_ shirt, ordering _him_ about without so much as resistance. He found it odd. But that didn't mean he didn't like the sight.

* * *

As he strode towards them, a large grin broke out across his face in complete marvel. "Chevalier!" Greg Lestrade announced with a mirthful smile, brushing off Sherlock as he rolled his eyes at him in annoyance. "It's been a while, I didn't know you were back home." He hugged her briefly, his smile never leaving his face for a single moment.

Gwen sighed, "What can I say... old habits apparently die hard."

Following Lestrade, leading him in the direction of his office. "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones." He looked briefly at Sherlock who merely shrugged, eyeing Gwen briefly as John trailed after them.

"Obviously."

"You'll love this." Lestrade turned to them and sighed as John clicked the door shut. "That explosion..."

Gwen pressed as her gaze landed upon the scowling face of Donovan, "Gas leak, wasn't it?"

Lestrade sighed. "No."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, as he repeated Greg's words in confusion. " _No?_ "

"No." The detective affirmed briefly, frowning slightly. "Made to _look_ like one."

"What?" John asked in confusion.

Moving towards his desk, Lestrade sent them all a wary look. "Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a _very_ strong box and inside it was this." he explained as he took an envelope into his hand for them to clearly see.

On the envelope in blue cursive writing was _Sherlock_ Holmes as Gwen's phone dinged through the silence. "You haven't opened it?" he looked at Lestrade before his eyes fell upon Gwen.

Opening the message, her brow perked as she read it:

 _Miss you, Neve. See you soon. X_

Her jaw tightened at the sight of it, and she carefully slid her phone back into her pocket and avoided Sherlock's eye.

Lestrade scoffed, shaking his head. "It's addressed to you, isn't it?" he watched as Sherlock took the envelope into his hands and turned it over, inspecting it. "We've X-rayed it... it's not booby-trapped."

"How reassuring..." Sherlock murmured. Turning away, he placed it under the light of the lamp in the room and frowned. "Nice stationery..."

"Bohemian." Gwen commented, eyeing the lettering.

Looking between the pair of them, Lestrade stared. "What?" he asked softly.

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" Sherlock asked, looking to Lestrade briefly.

"No."

Sherlock lowered his face to the envelope, "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold... iridium nib."

" _"She"?_ " John repeated, aghast from surprise.

Sherlock mutter: "Obviously."

"Obviously." John muttered as Donovan walked in and handed some files to Lestrade, watching as Sherlock began to open the envelope carefully.

Gwen frowned when he withdrew the contents to reveal a pink _iPhone_ and John's mouth fell open in shock. "But that... that's the phone. The pink phone."

Lestrade frowned, folding his arms over his chest, finding that he was far less confused than he thought he would be. "What, from the _Study in Pink_?"

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like..." he continued to examine the phone until he paused, rounding on Lestrade in slight disbelief. " _The Study in Pink?_ You read his blog?" his face creased in disdain as he absorbed the words.

Scoffing, Lestrade rolled his eyes. "'Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you _really_ not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" Donovan sniggered as Sherlock sent her a glare.

"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." He turned it over in his hands, frowning increasingly as he continued to study it thoroughly. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means..." his head snapped in John's direction as he spoke: "your blog has a far wider readership."

John turned away in his guilt as Gwen frowned sympathetically.

Ignoring him, Sherlock turned his attention back to the phone and switched it on, letting a voice alert up into the air. "You have one new message." It informed them as it was followed accordingly by five Greenwich time signal pips.

John frowned deeply. "Is that it?"

Shaking his head, Sherlock stared at the phone. "No. That's not it."

The phone beeped as a text message swam onto the screen, revealing a photograph. All of them crowded around the phone as Gwen's brow faltered in height as Sherlock turned white.

The photograph was that of Gwen's spare room; it was empty yet clean and in good condition, with whitened walls and a fireplace.

Sherlock looked over at Gwen who looked at confused as he was himself. His eyes moved to John, who he knew, recognised the room but couldn't place it.

Lestrade looked as puzzled as ever. "What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" he quizzed, his eyes flickering between them all curiously. Gwen sighed, crossing her arms. "No, it's warning." She offered, watching as Sherlock observed sharply, finding the entire situation rather complicated and intricate.

John stared at her. " _A warning?_ "

Sherlock turned to John and rolled his eyes. "Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips." He paused, looking at Gwen who was frowning in thought.

"They're warning us it's gonna happen again... and I've seen this place before."

"Where is it?" John frowned.

"It's the spare room in my flat." Gwen explained, her voice eerily calm and steady.

John stared wide-eyed as Sherlock began to move towards the door, "H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?" he called out as Gwen moved to follow.

"Boom!" Sherlock exclaimed, glancing back only briefly as he charged out of the room.

Starting forwards, Greg sighed and scratched the back of his head, shifting from one foot to another. Finally settling on placing his hands in his pocket, he rocked on the balls of his feet. "Hey, Gwen... I was wondering..." he begun, a shy smile appearing.

Looking at the detective, she internally winced at the approach of the conversation. "Sorry, Greg." She turned to face him, wincing when she saw Sherlock waving her down from outside, staring impatiently. "I've got to go..."

* * *

It didn't bother her... it didn't bother her as she thought it ought to, and that was the most worrying part, to know that someone else had been in her flat without her knowledge. She had to keep it up... _only a little longer._ Finding those trainers in her spare room did little to suppress her annoyance.

"Are you all right?" Gwen glanced behind her to see Sherlock, staring at her in concern as she sent him a false smile.

"I'm fine." she replied quietly.

Sherlock, however, remained unconvinced. "Who was that earlier? Who texted you?"

Gwen frowned, shoving her hands into the pockets of her trousers. "An old acquaintance, though I usually don't reply." she deeply frowned, her thoughts leading her mind.

Sherlock frowned at her. "Why?"

"Why encourage those you do not wish to see?" Gwen told him as he nodded, noting briefly as John strode into the lab, glancing between them momentarily.

Sighing, John came to a stop behind Sherlock. "So, who d'you suppose it was? The woman on the phone – the crying woman..." he folded his arms over his chest.

Sherlock dismissed him irritably, checking the progress on the computer screen. "Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage... no lead there."

"For God's sake, are- are they trying to trace it, trace the call?" John queried in exasperation, his voice desperate as Gwen pursed her lips.

"Perhaps you should trying calming yourself down, John." Gwen advised in a steady voice as the doctor stared at her. "You're not going to be much use to her otherwise."

"The bomber's too smart for that." Sherlock dismissed as a message tone rung out into the air. "Pass me my phone."

"Where is it?" John pressed, looking around.

"Jacket."

John froze and stared at him in disbelief while Gwen moved towards Sherlock, her hand reaching to gently take his phone into her hand. "Thank you." John moved towards them as he found it odd and slightly surprising that Sherlock had let her do it, let alone thank her for doing so.

Passing the phone to John, she didn't bother to look at it. John glanced at the message and sighed, "Text from your brother."

"Delete it." He replied instantaneously as Gwen smirked in intrigue at his behaviour.

John repeated incredulously: "Delete it?"

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it." Sherlock explained dully, not even bothering to look at John as he did, too engrossed in solve the case that had proven far more satisfying for him.

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important." He retorted, reading the message over again.

Sherlock finally looked at him then, "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?"

"His what?"

Gwen sighed and folded her arms, "Mycroft never texts if he can talk." She explained to John, feeling slightly guilty for the confused look he constantly wore on his face.

Finally, Sherlock turned to face John fully. "Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story." Sherlock swivelled around to face his microscope again. "The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" his eyes drifted to Gwen, who was frowning, and he frowned. "Why can't he bore you seeing as you enjoy it so much..."

"Will you just stop? Mycroft and I merely enjoy annoying one another – _that is all!_ You'd like to think there was something going on, purely because you are jealous."

Sherlock scoffed, " _Jealous_? Because I would be jealous of Myroft!"

Gwen rose her brows, "Because that doesn't prove it?"

John sighed and placed the phone down, "Try and remember there's a woman here who might die." He scolded the pair of them as Gwen bristled and closed her eyes but Sherlock remained unaffected.

"What for?" he asked as he looked at John again. "This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?" Sherlock demanded as John sent him an angry look.

"Doesn't it bother you that the bomber was in Gwen's flat? _Our home?_ Don't you care?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Gwen is safe, what does it matter..." he muttered as he felt Gwen pat his shoulder at his words.

"He does care in his odd little way." Gwen told John softly as she was certain she caught the hint of a smile upon his face.

Sherlock remained impassive as the computer beeped, attracting his attention as he grinned; "Ah!" The computer screen flashed, altering: ' _Search Complete_ '.

The door to the lab swung open as Molly waltzed in, smiling as Gwen returned it. "Any luck?" she asked as Sherlock smiled brilliantly.

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock hollered in triumph as the door opened once again.

Gwen looked over to see a man dress in a white tee-shirt and grey slacks walk in, wearing a sheepish expression. "Oh, sorry. I didn't..." his apology trailed off awkwardly as Molly looked behind her immediately.

"Jim!" Molly greeted in delight as Gwen sent her a look. "Hi!" she beamed, practically bouncing over to greet him. He made to leave but she grabbed him and pulled him back. "Come in, come in!"

The man gravitated towards them as Molly introduced him to the group. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." She gestured to Sherlock who merely glanced at him, as Jim recognised him: "Ah!"

Looking to John, Molly winced. "And, uh... sorry."

John sighed but gave a small smile nonetheless, "John Watson. Hi."

Jim looked back over at Sherlock, "Hi, so... you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" he said completely in awe, admiration radiating from him before he briefly glanced to Gwen. "And you are?"

"Guinevere Chevalier."

Jim smiled, "Ah, can I call you Neve?"

Gwen sent him a bored look and shrugged. "Whatever you want, I don't particularly care."

Jim's smile widened as Molly glanced between them. "Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance."

As Jim came to stand next to him, as Sherlock glanced briefly at him before returning to his microscope. "Gay." He muttered.

Molly's face fell immediately, "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock lifted his head and sent a small smile, "Nothing. Um," He covered it up with a fake smile, "Hey."

"Hi," Jim replied, raising his hand but in the process, knocked a dish from the table as it clattered upon the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, apologising profusely, evidently nervous as John and Gwen shared a look. "Sorry. Sorry!"

Gwen's eyes narrowed when she saw him place something under the dish once it was returned to the table, his nimble actions surprising her despite playing the bumbling fool. Jim wandered back over to Molly, "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?" he gave her a slight hug.

Molly nodded and gave him a wide smile. "Yeah!"

Jim sent Gwen a smile before looking to Sherlock. "'Bye." he called softly.

"'Bye." Molly murmured.

Jim continued to look at Sherlock, his eyes unwavering. "It was nice to meet you." Sherlock didn't bother to reply, leading to a prolonged awkward silence.

John smiled apologetically, "You too." He amended for Sherlock as Gwen turned away entirely.

Molly waited until Jim had left the room before she turned to Sherlock accusingly, her gaze full of hurt and confusion. "What d'you mean, gay? We're together." She attempted a smile which failed.

Sherlock turned to face the woman, "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." His tone was bitter as he turned his attention back to his microscope.

Molly quivered at the statement, adjusting her lab coat. "Two and a half."

"Nuh, three." He corrected.

"Sherlock..." John told him warningly.

Gwen winced, "Don't be cruel."

"He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil... ? _He's not_." She bit out angrily as Gwen sent her a sympathetic glance as she tried to convince him.

Sherlock snorted. "With that level of personal grooming?"

John gaped at him, "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair." John tried to defend them as Gwen looked away, bemused.

"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no –" Sherlock shook his head as Gwen winced again, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't be able to help himself. "Tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

Molly frowned, " _His underwear?_ "

Gwen sighed in her own irritation. "He needs to pull his jeans up, he's not part of some juvenile gang." She didn't miss the smirk on Sherlock's face as Molly shot her a look.

"Visible above the waistline – _very_ visible; very particular brand." He turned in explanation and reached for the metal dish to retrieve what was hidden beneath it. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here..." with a smug glance, he showed it to her, no remorse in sight. "... and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Molly stared wide-eyed at Sherlock for a moment before turned and charged out of the room, slamming the door behind her as John frowned at Sherlock. "Charming, well done." He said in sarcasm.

Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?"

" _"Kinder"?_ " John repeated in disgust. "No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind. Gwen tell him..."

"John's right; you need to learn when to stop."

Sherlock scoffed, "You saw it all too!"

"At least I know when to keep quiet to spare the feelings of another." Gwen chided, not even looking at him. "You'd think you would've learned that by now."

Leaning back, Sherlock grabbed one of the trainers and handed it to John. "Go on, then." He demanded, staring him.

"Mmm?" John asked in confusion.

"Off you go." He folded his arms in his typical way, evidently sulking from being told that he was in the wrong. John didn't budge. "Go on."

John stood firm. "I'm not going to stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate..." he tried but Sherlock cut him off with an annoyed tone.

"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me."

"Yeah right... then get Gwen to do it." John gestured to the woman, holding out the shoe.

Gwen rolled her eyes, "I've already done my part... we discussed it earlier. Your turn."

Frowning profusely, John sighed in defeat. "Fine."

Gwen smiled. "What are they?"

He awkwardly examined the shoe, turning it over in his hand. "I dunno, they're just a pair of shoes. Trainers." He corrected himself.

Sherlock nodded, picking up his phone. "Good."

"Umm..." John frowned at them. "They're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while." He paused briefly, picking up the other to look at it. "Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs."

"You're on sparkling form. What else?" Sherlock encouraged softly.

"Well, they're quite big, so a man's."

Gwen watched John closely, "But... ?"

John spotted the smudges on ink on the tongue of the shoe, "But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid."

Sherlock looked at him in approval, noticing that the good doctor was learning. "Excellent. What else?" he probed, turning to face him.

John looked taken aback. "Uh..." he looked at the trainer and sighed as he placed it down again. "That's it."

Sherlock watched him. "... that's it?" he asked slowly as John nodded.

John clasped his hands behind his back, bracing himself for the worst. "How did I do?"

"Well, John; really well." Sherlock appraised as a smile appeared on John's face. "I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know..." he held up a hand for the shoe.

Gwen rolled her eyes, and chose to come to John's aid. "What he means to say, John, is that the owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three... sorry, _four_ times."

John looked at him in frustration as he lowered the shoe into his hand. "Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches." He paused when he felt Gwen whack him upside his head, causing him to jolt. He glowered at her. "British-made, twenty years old."

"Twenty years?" John breathed incredulously.

"They're not retro, they're original." He quickly showed John an image of them on his phone. "Limited edition - two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine."

John continued to stare in disbelief. "But there's still mud on them. They look new." He accused as Gwen smiled.

"Someone's kept them that way." Gwen pointed out.

"Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it." Sherlock continued in thought.

John couldn't understand it – was he honestly this thick? He didn't realise how slow he was... how did Gwen even... "How the hell do you know that?"

Sherlock nodded towards the computer, "Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me." He paused momentarily, savouring the look of shock undoubtedly upon John's face. "South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So, what happened to him?" John pressed, genuinely interested.

"Something bad." Sherlock started, his eyes narrowed defiantly. "He _loved_ those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So, a child with big feet gets..." he trailed off, his mouth falling agape in sudden realisation. "Oh."

Gwen and John both asked in unison: "What?"

"Carl Powers." He whispered.

John looked to Gwen who, thankfully, looked confused as he felt. "Sorry, who?"

"Carl Powers, John." Sherlock repeated, sighing though it came out more like a hiss, a sharp intake of breath.

Gwen sighed, "Are we supposed to know who that is? I don't know who that is."

"It's where I began."

It wasn't until they had gotten into the back of a cab that Sherlock finally decided to explain the entire situation to John and Gwen. "Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident." He showed them the article on his phone. "You wouldn't remember it... why should you remember it?"

John's gaze narrowed, "But you remember." He said pointedly as Sherlock nodded. "Something fishy about it?" he added.

Sherlock looked caught up in his memories as he briefly met Gwen's eye. "Nobody thought so – nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

John shook his head. "Started young, didn't you?"

She smiled. "Of course he did."

Sherlock continued as though he hadn't even spoken. "The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?"

"His shoes." Gwen spoke softly.

John's eyes snapped to her. "What about them?"

Sherlock looked to Gwen and she sighed. "They weren't there... so, obviously nobody deemed them important. Everything was there apart from his shoes... no sign of them."

Sherlock smiled knowingly. "... until now."

As they climbed out of the cab, Gwen felt a vibration in her pocket and withdrew her phone. "It's your brother. He's texting me now." She announced, following Sherlock through the door in annoyance.

Sherlock climbed the stairs, frowning. "Must be a root canal." He recalled in thought as John's phone beeped, barging into their flat.

"... How does Mycroft know my number?" he pressed in confusion, signifying to the others that he'd also gotten a message.

Gwen moved and sat herself in Sherlock's chair. "He knows everyone's number." She also knew that Mycroft wouldn't stop until he'd gotten what he wanted.

John sighed, glancing at the text message. "Look, he did say " _national importance_ "."

Gwen rolled her eyes at him. "John, Mycroft is a drama queen if you hadn't noticed." She pointed out in amusement, crossing her legs. "To him, everything is " _national importance_ '."

Coming to stand beside her, Sherlock smirked slightly. "How quaint." He glanced at her and frown slightly. He didn't like how she spoke of his brother; how warmly she regarded or appeared to... It was unsettling seeing as it was Mycroft. Mycroft, his brother, who cared for no one and nothing at all. Mycroft the Ice Man.

"What is?" John looked between the pair of them nervously, noting how they both wore similar expressions.

Sherlock shrugged. "You are."

" _Queen and country_." Gwen commented, biting the inside of her cheek.

John clutched his hands until they turned into fists, his frustration beginning to finally get the better of him. "You can't just ignore it." He complained, glancing hopelessly at Gwen. Gwen, who until this point, provided all reason and understanding.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, "I'm not ignoring it." He turned to look at Gwen, who grimaced, obviously knowing what he was going to ask. "Gwen, do you fancy preoccupying my brother? He likes you, so that should make it easier." He didn't want her to do it, for her to talk with Mycroft without him being there. _He'll probably want to take her to dinner..._

Climbing to her feet. Gwen straightened herself ad sighed, she knew what he was going to ask of her, and to be honest, she wasn't at all surprised either. "I'm under the impression that I don't have much of a say in the matter." She smiled and grabbed her coat, pulling it on as Sherlock reclaimed his seat.

Sending her a forced smile, Sherlock sighed and gestured to John. "You can take John if you like." He suggested as she eyed him, folding her arms over her chest stubbornly. "He can be your back up, not that you'll need any." he amended in amusement.

Gwen was confident that she could take on Mycroft Holmes simply enough, but she also knew that Sherlock _wanted_ John to go with her, probably to spy on her discussion with Mycroft. She wasn't at all surprised. He still didn't trust. "Fancy picking at the Ice Man's brain, Doctor?" she offered John a smile, despite the hurt that emotionally rocked her. Sherlock didn't trust her.

* * *

John smiled as he watched Gwen spin in the leather chair lurking behind the oak desk, finding that she was more amusing that he first realised. "You similar to him, you know." He commented as she paused, surveying him.

Gwen frowned. "What do you mean?" she watched him as she adjusted the chair, making the chair lean back.

"Childish."

She snorted. "I prefer resourceful," Gwen sighed, moving forward to rearrange the pens and files on Mycroft's desk. "Anyway, you have to be with Sherlock. It's how you survive."

John smiled at her as the door opened, revealing Mycroft Holmes. "Ah, Mr. Bond, I've been expecting you." John had to laugh as Gwen turned around in the chair, earning a look of disapproval from Mycroft.

The elder Holmes brother turned to John, shaking his hand and then gesturing for him to sit in the chair before the desk. "John. How nice. I was hoping you wouldn't be long." When he looked around again, he found that Gwen had moved from behind his desk. "Hello, Gwen, dear."

She smiled at him, "Lovely to see you as always, _Myc_."

 _Mycroft bristled at the use of the nickname, closing his eyes in frustration. "_ _Mycroft_. I don't suppose you could struggle to the end." He reminded in exasperation, knowing that she would continue to ignore him the more he complained about it. "How can I help you?"

Gwen sighed and gestured to John and herself. "We are the guinea pigs, dear."

John's simile remained upon his face and he looked to Mycroft. "Sherlock's sent us to collect more facts about the stolen plans – _missile plans_." He explained as thoroughly as he was able as Gwen circled the office.

Mycroft stared at John, his brow furrowing. "Did he?"

"Yes." John managed, clearing his throat, looking to Gwen for help. "He's investigating now. He's, er, investigating away." He trailed off, looking to Gwen, who had stopped moving.

"Tell us about this Westie."

Positioning himself on the edge of his desk firmly, Mycroft neatly folded his arms. "Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies..." he paused in thought as Gwen watched him. "Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening."

John began writing upon the pad in his hand, feeling Gwen's presence behind him, leaning over his shoulder. "Right. He was found at Battersea, yes? So he got on the train."

Gwen sighed. "If only it were that simple..."

"No."

John glanced up, "What?" he questioning, frowning in confusion.

Mycroft moved, eyeing the position of his chair and frowning. "He had an Oyster card... but it hadn't been used." He pointed out, turning to look at Gwen accusingly.

John shrugged in thought. "Must have bought a ticket." he assumed immediately, finding he was at a loss for any other alternative.

"There was no ticket on the body." Mycroft asserted, sounding almost bored as he did so. John wasn't as nearly interesting as Gwen.

"Then..."

Mycroft cut John off effortlessly. "Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea?" he finished for him, a small frown pulling across his face slightly. "That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to." He explained promptly, folding his arms more tightly across his chest, looking down at John as he sat in the chair before him. "How's he getting on?"

"He-he's fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going... very well." John was struggling to convince Mycroft, he knew that Gwen and Mycroft could both see he wasn't very good at this sort of thing. He was a soldier and a doctor, that was what he was good at. That was all he was good at. "It's, um, you know – he's completely focussed on it."

"In his odd little way," Gwen added curtly, "Right, well, we best be off. Got a case to solve and a bomber to catch..." she pulled John to his feet and started towards the door.

"Guinevere." Mycroft called softly, smiling softly at the woman stood to the side of him, coming to lean upon his desk once again as he regarded her through a soft, questioning gaze.

She poised herself and looked at him, raising a single brow. "Yes, _MyMy?_ "

"I'll ignore that." Mycroft warned as John snickered under his breath as Gwen held his gaze. "Coffee." He added curtly.

Gwen tilted her head at Mycroft, finding herself in the mood for a game. "Boring."

"Dinner."

"Better." She appraised in amusement.

Mycroft leaned towards her, "French."

Gwen glanced at John before her eyes darted back to Mycroft, whose hadn't left her. "Interesting. Go on."

Feeling awkward at witnessing their tense interaction, John shuffled of his feet. "Shall I just... go?" he started to leave but Gwen sent him a look which made him pause in his movements.

"Tonight." Mycroft continued.

Gwen screwed her nose up. "Busy."

"No, you're not." Mycroft chuckled, his eyes boring into her.

"So dominant."

Mycroft sighed as he pushed himself off of the edge of his desk, ignoring John as he continued to watch Gwen in intrigue. "Dinner. Tonight. _With me_." He hoped she wouldn't deny him.

Looking to John, Gwen rolled her eyes softly. "I told you he's got a severe power complex..." her eyes flew back to Mycroft. She had missed the taunting of one another, the harmless teasing... "I'm busy."

"I can clear your schedule. Sherlock will understand."

"John." Gwen's voice reached him immediately and he paused.

"Hmm?"

Not looking at him, her eyes stared at Mycroft only. "Tell Sherlock I apologise for my absence. His brother is exercising his superiority complex as usual and I have no choice but to comply, he is after all, the British Government." Her eyes shining when he glanced way from her, the familiar salmon shade returning to his neck, causing her to smirk. "Dear me, Mycroft Holmes, are you flushing?"

Approaching the door, John glanced back and stared as he saw Mycroft conform to Gwen as she stood before him, smiling slightly. "I'll see you later, yeah?" he called as she nodded.

"Don't worry, John." Gwen reached forward and straightened Mycroft's tie, smiling up at him as he watched her silently. "I can handle the elder Holmes."

* * *

When Gwen returned, Sherlock was elated. Upon seeing her, he began to rapidly explain how he's solved the case effortlessly: it had been poison, Clostridium Botulinum, which had caused a severe reaction with Carl Power's eczema condition. It had caused his muscles to paralyse after he'd come up to London for the competition.

"Right, so the killer is also the bomber," Gwen spoke as Sherlock nodded at her eagerly, a wide smile pulling across his face.

"Wonderful, isn't it, Gwen?" He wore a smug smile as he collapsed into his chair, sighing deeply.

"No." Gwen shook her head, finding his behaviour ridiculous as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "The crying woman?" she asked, worried that the woman was still strapped mercilessly to explosives or that she had died.

"She told us where to find her, Lestrade did the rest." He told her softly, noting that she was considerably happier than she had been earlier. He also noted that she'd been sat down for a long while due to the evident creases in her trousers. "He let her go... John told me about your date." He let out, waiting for her frustration to get the better of her.

Gwen's eyes widened in annoyance. "For God's sake!" she shouted, wheeling around immediately to stare at Sherlock directly in the eye, her gaze unwavering.

Sherlock sighed, "Has he kissed you yet?!" he demanded, leaping to his feet.

"Shut up, Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock chuckled at her reaction, though he secretly found the entire prospect of his brother's interest in _his_ friend disconcerting to say the least. He didn't like his interest in her at all. "Oh, what am I saying? Mycroft's too frigid for that, I'm afraid. It goes against his morals."

Moving towards the door, Gwen shook her head in annoyance, completely ignoring John as she did. "Piss off." She let out, striding down the stairs to her own flat. Mycroft Holmes was an acquaintance. Nothing more... And her new employer. But Sherlock didn't need to know that just yet.

Sliding out her phone, she opened the message from earlier and began to type.

 _Your sentiments are not mutual._


	5. Chapter 5

She sShe stirred at a sudden rapping at her door, causing her to jolt awake. Blinking as she took in her surroundings, Gwen rolled off her bed and found her knees as her hands crawled for the loose floorboard nearest to her. "What is it?" she called out warily, her eyes surveying the space before her, listening for movement. Anyone could be outside her door.

"It's Lestrade. 'You coming?" John spoke aloud, his voice laced with concern when he had heard her delayed answer. "Gwen, are you all right? How did your dinner with- "

Sitting on her knees, she allowed a sigh of relief to pass her lips. "Fine, thank you!" she interrupted, grimacing as she scrambled for her clothes, grabbing a blouse that had been scarcely draped over a chair. "Give me five minutes."

John didn't press the matter. "I'll tell Sherlock."

Shuddering, she pulled on her shirt and rushed to find the coat she had thrown in some random direction, frowning when she couldn't find it. "Next time, say _no_. Simple. _Just say no_." Gwen told herself sternly, doing the buttons up of her shirt.

 _"Why are you so stubborn?" Mycroft regarded her through a soft gaze, clasping his hands together in thought._

 _Gwen rolled her neck, "Why do you persist in treating me to such fine things?"_

 _He smirked. "To watch you flail."_

 _"I am not one of your goldfish, Myc."_

Starting down the stairs out of the her flat, Gwen sent a grin Mrs. Hudson way as she flew by. "Oh, Gwen dear!" she let out, laughing at the sight of her as she trailed after John out of the door. "You were out late last night!"

Gwen flashed a grimace, "No fault of my own! My arm was twisted against my will..." Jogging forward, she grabbed John's forearm and pulled him back. "What is it?"

"Four pips," he looked at her, frowning when he took in her appearance. He hadn't known her long, but she looked oddly paler than yesterday, or as though she was recovering for a week long hangover. "He's taken another voice... good night?"

Gwen frowned, scratching the back of her as she followed John into the back of the cab. "No, not really." she admitted, sending Sherlock a warning look as he smirked at her.

"Oh..." John let out as he sat down beside Sherlock, avoiding her eye.

Her brow dipped in question. " _Oh?_ "

John pulled a face, looking to the detective beside him and wincing at his own reaction. "It's just Sherlock pointed out- " he stopped himself when he saw the scrutiny Gwen was giving him, obviously not amused by his attempt to explain himself.

Looking between the pair of them, she frowned, her feathers successfully ruffled. "No, go on..." she gestured for John to carry on, wanting to know exactly what the curly haired bastard beside him had said.

Sherlock sighed, tying his scarf around neck securely before he looked to her lazily. "You were rather flushed when you came home- " he rolled his eyes when she cut him off.

"Wine lowers the inhibitions, Curls."

He glared, turning away to glance out of the window. "I'm sure Mycroft would have enjoyed that display." When he saw her face change in the reflection, he looked back immediately to find that she was watching him silently, evaluating something in her mind.

Gwen tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, "It's not like that, Sherlock." She knew the more she tried, the less he would understand her reasoning. Mycroft was an employer. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Sherlock stared at her, positively enraged by her ambiguity, not favouring the riddles in which she opted to speak. Before him wasn't Gwen... she felt like a ghost, a stranger, in the shell of a person he once he knew... someone he might of loved. "Then what is it like? Why do you like him so much? What is so spectacular about the _great_ Mycroft Holmes?" he ended with a sickening smile before he glanced over at John, sighing lightly. "John, would you say Mycroft was attractive?"

"How would I know?" John scoffed, his mouth falling agape. He was met with silence and sent a look of subdued fury in the direction of Sherlock. "I'm not gay!" he shouted in disbelief, throwing his arms up into the arms. Did he come across as such?

Gwen gave John a sympathetic smile. When she looked back at Sherlock, she found him watching her closely, trying to pick at her brain. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Sherlock scowled at her. "I'm not dim, you know, that's John."

John rounded on him immediately. "Hey!"

Sherlock ignored his complaining companion and continued to stare at Gwen with interest. "I'm cleverer than Mycroft." he added.

Gwen remained silent, turning her gaze to the placing lights as the cab sped along the road, taking them to their destination in a low rumble.

"You said it yourself, _he's a plank_." He smirked when her eyes met his again, and he stifled a laugh as he recalled his brother's _rituals_ of health. "He diets _way too much_ , he's frigid, he carries that umbrella _everywhere_ with him. He's the British Government for God's sake!" Sherlock spoke, knowing his emotion was getting the better of him, and he blamed Gwen for that solely.

Feeling the cab halt in its movement, she rushed to climb out of its confines. "You always were more emotional. No, wait..." Gwen paused in thought, sending Sherlock a pointed glance as she climbed out of the cab. "This is your pride talking again. It doesn't come down to who's cleverer or why he carries that bloody umbrella about – I have an obligation to your brother." Turning back, she sent him a dark look in her vexation as he followed her out, leaving John to pay as always. "A transaction which compels me to associate with him if I am to clear it."

Finding his impatience getting the better of him, he grasped forward for her arm. "Tell me!" Sherlock demanded outright, following her along as they approached Lestrade.

Gwen looked at him briefly, placing her free hand on the one gripping her forearm. "It's a private covenant, Sherlock. I'm not allowed to." She squeezed his hand before shrugging it off, noting the sudden softness in his eyes at her gesture.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock gave a soft sigh. "You're lying, I know it." He breathed, watching her as she walked, his eyes tracing every facial features intensely.

Smiling in amusing, Gwen paused and turned to face him. "So, because I refuse to tell you, I'm now a liar?" she demanded, her gaze narrowing in intrigue at the man stood before her. " _Well, Curls?"_

"I never said that."

Gwen scoffed, pushing past him to approach the scene. "That's what you accuse me of!" she hissed, feeling Sherlock start after her in his own annoyance.

"Guinevere- "

John pushed past Sherlock as Gwen turned swiftly, standing between the pair of them despite wanting to see Gwen put Sherlock Holmes in his place. "Why don't we all calm down, eh?" he let out, a nervous smile crossing his face as he looked to Lestrade for help.

Sherlock's brow continued to furrow, pushing against John to stare at her. "Why won't you tell me?" He needed to know why Mycroft was so important to her... why wouldn't she tell him!

Gwen let out a laugh, turning on her heel and throwing her hands into the air in marvel at her questioning. "Why don't you deduce it, Curls? You always pride yourself on being able to read others..." she gestured to herself, her eyes almost slits as she regarded him harshly. " _No?_ Well, then let me inform you of something... it's more complicated than you could ever imagine. That is why you will never know."

Sherlock, stumped at a loss for words, merely stared blankly at Gwen. He had never witnessed her hostility toward him like he had just then, and it shocked him. He hadn't expected it. He didn't like it.

Lestrade, clearing his throat, looking worriedly between the exchange. "Everything all right?" he sent Gwen a quick glance but she was already storming off toward the abandoned car.

From Lestrade's side, Donovan snickered. "Oh, has Norman Bates Jr. upset lover girl?"

Lestrade glowered at her. "Donovan." He warned as he saw a shadow cross Sherlock's face. "So, you fell out again?"

"We _did not_ fall out, it is merely a misunderstanding."

John arched a brow. "You're joking?" he bit out, shaking his head at his flatmate. "You pushed for answers because you're jealous; Gwen isn't allowed to disclose anything to us just as she said." John looked to Lestrade in defeat. "Leave him, Greg. He'll be sulking soon enough."

Lestrade frowned, "What is this about?"

Sherlock strode after Gwen, leaving John to briefly explain. "Bloody Mycroft Holmes."

"Mycroft?"

" _Mycroft._ "

John and Lestrade's conversation met her ears soundly, causing a deep frown to cross her face as she looked to them. Was the entire world to know of Mycroft's attempts to procure her? Gossip... she hated gossip.

Gwen's jaw was tightly clenched when she heard the others finally approach, her arms folded over her chest as she felt Sherlock's presence, and ignoring him as she inspected the blood smeared on the seats of the car. "... it's Monkford's blood, the DNA checks out..." Lestrade was saying.

Sherlock opened the glove compartment, finding a business card. "No body."

Donovan frowned at him darkly. "Not yet."

Turning away from her, Sherlock moved away. "Get a sample sent to the lab." He looked at Gwen and moved towards Ian Monkford's wife, John following behind him.

Shuffling over, Lestrade came to stop beside Gwen, smiling slightly. "So, I, uh, heard about your date with Mycroft..." he trailed off, meeting her fleeting gaze as she lent against the bonnet of the car. "How did that go?"

Gwen grimaced, folding her arms delicately. "Funny you heard about that... just slipped out did it?" she gave him a soft smile, her eyes drifting over to where Sherlock and John stood. "It was a dinner. A dinner in which he aimed to ply me with a job offer. One I declined since I have little interest in being on his _goldfish_."

Lestrade stared at her. "But he's the British Government."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"You know he won't let it go, right?" he told her as she pushed off of the car and began to walk over to Sherlock and John, laving Lestrade standing there bewildered.

"Why did you lie to her?" John pressed with a deep frown, staring at Sherlock whilst his hands were tightly positioned on his hips.

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes at the doctor. "People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you." He nodded back at the wife who was still crying. "Past tense, did you notice?"

John's face fell immediately, utterly lost and confused. "Sorry, what?"

Gwen sighed, "It's a set up... the entire thing is far too formal for it to not be planned."

Sherlock smiled a small smile, his lips turning upwards ever so slightly. "I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature – they've only just found the car." He explained tersely, finding his words left John once again shocked.

John gaped at him. "You think she murdered her husband?"

"Definitely not." Sherlock sighed. "That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

He nodded slowly, in what appeared to be understanding, but still remained confusion. "I see... no, I don't." He looked between Gwen and Sherlock, scratching the back of his head in question. "What am I seeing?"

"Fishing! Try fishing!" Donovan shouted when she saw John, making him sigh deeply, his shoulders sagging.

Gwen's brow perked. "What's that about?" she nudged his arm to force him to look at her.

"She doesn't like me, at least I don't think she does..."

Gwen smiled at his words, finding them hardly to be true. "She harboured similar feelings for me in the beginning. Ignore Donovan for she thrives on reaction." She informed him kindly, knowing that he needed all the reassurance he could in that moment. John was still very new to Sherlock's way of life.

Rushing to catch up with Sherlock, John asked: "Where now?"

"Janus Cars." He showed the business card he'd also found, flashing a grim smile. "Just found this in the glove compartment."

* * *

Passing by Gwen, Sherlock wandered the office in thought, his hands clasped behind his back s John sat down politely. "Can't see how I can help you gentlemen..." the man's eyes met Gwen and he forced a smile. "And lady." He amended as she rolled her eyes.

"How generous of you." Her voice cooed gently, earning an intrigued glance from Ewert.

John cleared his throat, "Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday..." he prompted as Sherlock continued to pace around the office, Ewert's eyes following him.

"Yeah. Lovely motor, a Mazda RX-8." he replied easily, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Wouldn't mind one of them myself!"

Gwen shrugged, "Not that exciting..."

Inspecting several framed pictures, Sherlock pointed to the cars on the wall. "Is that one?" he rose an eyebrow at the man, knowing that the model of car was very much a Jaguar.

Ewert turned around to look at the cars, baring his neck to Sherlock who inspected it briefly, his eyes narrowing. He quickly turned away when Ewert looked around, "No, they're all Jags. Yeah, I can see you're not a car man, eh?"

Gwen smiled in amusement, leaning against his desk in thought. "But, er, surely _you_ can afford one, a man of your... stature – a Mazda, I mean..." she sent him a smile as Ewert smirked, straightening his collar and moving to scratch his arm.

Ewert smirk widened as he continued to look at Gwen, "Yeah, it's a fair point. But you know how it is: it's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the liquorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?" he paused, tilting his head at her as she pushed away from the desk. "I'm a sweet man myself..."

Gwen sighed as Sherlock came to stand in front of her, blocking her from Ewert's gaze. "They rot your teeth." she smiled, patting Sherlock's arm.

"But you didn't know Mr. Monkford?" John asked from his seat, looking as Sherlock lingered in front of Gwen. He smiled slightly at his protectiveness of Gwen, his heart rising to know that the man did care for her, not matter how much he strove to abolish any thoughts of the subject.

Ewert shook his head. "No, he was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars." He frowned at Sherlock, looking as though he was feigning his sympathy. "No idea what happened to him. Poor sod!"

He began to scratch his arm again, and Sherlock stared in interest. "Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?" his question was abrupt as he wandered around the desk.

Ewert looked puzzled as he asked: "Eh?"

"You've been away, haven't you?" Sherlock gestured to the glow of his skin.

"Oh, the-the..." he smiled and gestured to the tanned skin of his face with an idle wave of his hand. "No, it's, er, sunbeds, I'm afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – bit of sun."

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Sherlock asked randomly.

Ewert was utterly bewildered: "What?"

Sherlock sighed, "Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change." He gestured to his empty pockets as Ewert reached for his wallet. "I'm gasping."

"Then breathe..." Gwen muttered, rousing a soft chuckle from John.

Withdrawing his wallet from his trousers, he sighed. "Um, well..." he looked through its contents and frowned. "Hmm. No, sorry." he apologised.

Sherlock smiled politely at Ewerty. Oh well. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert." He stepped away, clasping his hands once again. "You've been _very_ helpful."

Moving towards the door, Gwen hurried through it as she looked beside her to see John reaching for him wallet. "I-I've got change if you still want to, uh..." he offered, gesturing to the loose change jingling about.

Sherlock smiled in amusement. "Nicotine patches, remember? I'm doing well." He patted his arms, striding in front of them.

Pocketing his wallet again, John rushed to catch up. "So what was that all about?" he looked to Gwen, knowing that she undoubtedly understood what was going on. He didn't know how they expected him to keep up with the pair of them at this rate.

Sherock shrugged. "I needed to look inside his wallet."

John stared in confusion, still not understanding all the secrecy. "Why?"

Gwen sighed, wrapping her coat around herself, "Mr. Ewert's a liar, John. Though, I suppose it is sort of poetic..." she smiled, bemused.

Sherlock sent her a frown, "What is?"

"Janus... the God of two faces."

* * *

Sherlock was sat working alone in the lab at Bart's, mulling over his thoughts. John had gone to his pointless position at the surgery and Gwen had left to make him a coffee. He smiled as his thoughts shifted... she had insisted on keeping him company despite him assuring he was fine.

Sighing, he placed his palms upon the table and wondered. He wondered what Gwen thought, and how she regarded him... he remembered how she failed to answer the question he proposed to her in the restaurant. He desired to know if she liked him, truly.

He liked her. For God's sake, he liked her _a lot_. He hated it that Mycroft also liked Gwen. He had, after all, met her first – that would give him so advantage over his brother, and he was the more clever and handsome one. Mycroft was too tall and carried that bloody brolly out everywhere with him... and yet, he had become fond of Guinevere.

But she was Sherlock's; he met her first and had known her longer... and he knew she liked him better. He was about to continue in his musing when the door to the lab opened and Gwen peered around the doors carrying two cups in her hands. "Black. Two sugars. Just the way you like it." She smiled and set it down on the table beside him.

Sherlock smiled at her warmly. "Perfect. Thank you."

Gwen narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, taking the seat beside him on the bench. "Did Sherlock Holmes just say thank you?" she teased, sipping her own drink in amusement. "First, you apologise and now you're thanking me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have manners."

Gwen smiled softly, leaning forward on her elbows. "It's just... I had a personal breakthrough.." she saw Sherlock nod for her to continue. "You've changed... there's a significant difference in you."

"What do you mean?" He said, sounding quite confused.

"I find it rather contradicting that you first complain about my presence as I interfere in your job, and now, I find you enjoying my company which is odd to me when you claim I will do nothing but distract you."

"You don't distract me." Sherlock told Gwen stubbornly.

"So, it's not true that you complain about me coming home because I _distract_ you and _interfere_ with your work?" Gwen tilted her head in question. "That's funny..."

He pursed his lips, pressing them tightly against one another. Sherlock Holmes was infuriatingly irritating, and yet, she enjoyed him. "I like you very much, Gwen. You know this." He frowned at her, turning his whole body to face her, genuine concern crossing his features.

"I never doubted your liking of me, just your changeable regard of my value."

His face was inches from Gwen's, so close that she could smell the mint of his breath as he continued to stare at her in wonder. "I like you very much." Sherlock told her, his voice dropping an octave as he reached for her hand, gripping them tightly in his own.

Glancing down, Gwen sighed. "I'm apologise." She closed her eyes in defeat, bowing her head as she looked to their entwined hands, wincing at the sight. "I apologise for what I am... the way I am, I understand your feelings. I am not particularly agreeable, I know that. I know leaving was the wrong thing to accept but I do not regret it either, Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at her, watching, waiting. "I'm glad you came back, though." He commented softly, smiling and chuckling at Gwen. "I don't really seem to be able to get rid of you, do I?"

"Odd, I find myself admitting to the same thing."

Smirking at her, Sherlock mused: "That's because of my compelling charm."

"I hate you."

He looked up at her and smiled again, clutching her hands more tightly. "I know."

Gwen sighed, dropping his hand. "There will be rules, though. I ask that you will _never_ take me for granted... and that if you say any unwarranted insult or anything like it – I'm gone. Understood, Curls?"

He nodded like a school boy being lectured, and quickly let a drop of liquid fall onto the blood in the petri dish, watching it fizz.

"Gwen..."

"Hmm?" she looked at him, frowning.

Sherlock's brain couldn't process what to say and battled with his own mind before he blurted out a chorus of words. "Why do you care so much, Guinevere?"

"… Because I love you?"

His whole body tensed as the words swam to tug at his heartstrings. Sherlock's eyes widened, and as silence filled the room once again, he looked back at her in complete... fear? "I.."

"I'm joking, Sherlock!" she clapped him on the arm playfully, trailing it to his shoulder. "I just wanted to see your reaction... I didn't mean it, I've just missed annoying you since I've been away."

Sherlock stared at her carefully. Gwen wasn't the type of person to make jests like that, and so freely about personal matters... "Are you still upset?" Sherlock inquired weakly.

"No." She said in the same voice tone, "Are you?"

"No." He tried to turn away from her, but Gwen held him in place.

Sherlock had let go off her hands instead, making her roll her eyes. "What are we now?"

"We are whatever you want us to be." Sherlock replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What do _you_ want us to be?" Gwen smiled in amusement.

"More than what we were." He answered lowly, not looking at her.

Gwen frowned, "Sher- "

Sherlock gaze at her even as she was interrupted by the ringing of the pink phone. He straightened himself and answered the call. _Blocked number..._ "Hello?"

"The clue's in the name - Janus Cars." The young man on the other end let out shakily, trembling in fear.

Sherlock's gaze narrowed. "Why would you be giving me a clue?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" the man replied tearfully. "Because I'm bored. We were _made_ for each other, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, his eyes flickering to Gwen, whose brow was furrowed. "Then talk to me in your own voice." He commanded softly.

"Patience." The man hung up, leaving Sherlock looking lost in thought, frowning in deep thought.

Gwen folded her arms over her chest tightly, frowning deeply as a message tone buzzed through the silence in the room. Reaching into her pocket, she saw the screen flashing. She opened it:

 _Janus... Reminds me of you, don't you agree Neve? X_

Gritting her teeth in frustration and shoved the phone away in annoyance.

Sherlock chose to ignore her actions and looked down to the petri dish, his frown dispersing as he looked at the fizzing blood. It dawned on him. "Right, we need to see Lestrade immediately." He reached for his coat, taking a long swig of his coffee, turning to see Gwen lost in thought. "Are you coming, Gwen?"

She looked up at him and smiled, nodding her head. "Let's go."

"Are you all right?" he pressed, holding the door open for her, noticing the sudden shift in her body language which had grown oddly rigid.

She sent him a shrug as she pulled on her coat. "Nuisances, nothing more."

* * *

Sherlock eyed the car as he wandered around it, staring at it wildly in the car pound. "How much blood was on that seat, would you say? " he threw at Lestrade, shoving his hands firmly into his pocket.

Lestrade glanced at the car, frowning. " _How much?_ " he paused in thought. "About a pint."

Gwen sighed, gesturing to the car. "Not ' _about_ '... it was exactly a pint on that seat, a bit odd don't you think?" Gwen paced around the car in thought, "That was the first mistake, but the bloody is definitely Ian Monkford's; it's just been frozen."

" _Frozen?_ "

Sherlock smiled at Gwen, quietly impressed by her observations unlike John, who remained eagerly perturbed and confused. "There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats." He explained, his gaze remaining on Gwen as he spoke, his mind still simmering over their conversation earlier.

John stared with a wide gaze. " _Who_ did?"

"Janus Cars. The clue's in the name."

Gwen smiled in amusement, finding John's confusion far more enjoyable for a man who always tried his hardest to understand the situation. She loved John's motivation. "Isn't it amusing? Sort of ironic really when you think about it..."

"The god with two faces." John breathed in realisation.

Sherlock smirked. "Exactly." John hummed in thought and Sherlock continued: "They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear." Sherlock shook his head in slow realisation.

"The rest just falls into place really," Gwen told them, rubbing her brow in thought. "Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker who couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat..."

John stared, gaping. "So where is he?" he pressed, looking between Sherlock and Gwen.

Sherlock slammed the car door shut and swiftly turned to face them. "Colombia." He sung promptly.

"Colombia?!" Lestrade asked incredulously, laughing in disbelief.

Sher shrugged, "Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet..." he paused momentarily in thought. "... Quite a bit of change, too."

Gwen hummed, "Oh, this is good..."

"He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly" Sherlock rolled his eyes at how clear everything was. "No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

Lestrade asked: "His arm?"

"He kept scratching his arm."

Sherlock nodded, "Obviously irritating him, and bleeding. _Why?_ Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance." He rambled, noting Gwen's raised brow which brought him back to reality. "Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars."

John was shocked. John was at a severe loss for words and he wondered if he was even cut out for the crime work that Sherlock and Gwen could easily put him to shame by solving themselves. "M-Mrs Monkford?"

"Oh yes, she's in on it too." he remarked dryly, smiling widely in amusement. "Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best."

Greg Lestrade, who looked at Sherlock as though he'd spoken in fluent gibberish, nodded blankly.

"We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved." He swept past Gwen and John, practically grinning like a mad man, evidently pleased with himself. "I am on fire!"

Gwen sent Lestrade an apologetic glance, and went to follow when another vibration buzzed in her pocket.

 _Ezra sends his love. Miss you, Neve. X_

Gwen, shoving her phone back into her pocket, she rushed after the pair of them and tried her best to forget the message all together.

When they returned home, Sherlock wasted no time in going straight to his laptop where he logged on to his website ' _The_ _Science of Deduction_ ' and typed:

 _Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Columbia._

Gwen handed John a cuppa, sighing in exasperation as she pulled out her phone, typing a quick reply:

 _Tell him I return his sentiments._

"Who is it?"

She looked up and saw that it wasn't John who had spoken, and had in fact, been Sherlock. She frowned when he didn't turn to face her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Turning to face her, Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Well, obviously it's someone important because you've replied... so who is it?" he strode over and roughed pulled the phone from her grasp and glanced at the screen. " _'Ezra sends his love. Miss you, Neve. X'_. Ezra, Ezra must be important because you replied as soon as his name was mentioned. And what do you reply with?" Sherlock spared a look at her. "' _Tell him I return his sentiments_.'"

Gwen gritted her teeth in a slow-burning fury surface, her fist clenched tightly.

"Sherlock," John warned slowly, noting Gwen's behaviour change and becoming deeply worried.

"So, who is Ezra? A previous flame, no, far too obvious." Sherlock ranted in thought, sighing to himself. "Family I would assume, you're far too composed for it to be anything else."

"Sherlock!"

The Consulting Detective glanced up and followed John's gaze to find Gwen staring at him, wide-eyed and eyes glazed, causing his heart to stop. "Gwen, I..."

"Why are you always so hateful?" she breathed out, closing her eyes in her own frustration as she finally looked up at him. "You can be so bloody wonderful, and yet, I now find myself wishing I'd never come back."

Sherlock's face continued to fall. "Gwen..."

Snatching her phone back, Gwen shook her head. "I'll be gone for a few hours, don't think to contact me in any way until I'm ready." She told him sternly, glaring with little mercy.

"Guinevere, I didn't mean..."

"That's the problem, Sherlock." She spat out his name as she neared the door. "You mean everything you say, that's why it's so hurtful."

He could only stare as she walked through the door, wanting nothing more than to take back his joyous mood and retract his words, and so when the call came through that the man was safe it didn't matter.

Gwen was gone. Gwen was upset. Gwen hated him.


	6. Chapter 6

Twelve hours she'd been there, waiting. _Patiently waiting_. She rolled her shoulders as she looked down the scope of her rifle, her brow narrowed in concentration. The window ledge was sharp against her waist as she lent against it, holding the body of the gun securely to her body.

" _Showtime Neve!"_ His voice sung excitedly, " _Ready for a building to go boom?_ "

She watched as the old woman reached for the phone that had been positioned next to her, speaking. Gwen frowned when she found she was unable to read the words leaving her lips from the angle she was stationed in.

 _Such a mess..._ How had she gotten herself back into this diabolical mess?

Gwen froze when she heard movement behind her.

She didn't expect to have company.

Initially she ignored it, believing it to be someone joining her to make sure she was still active in her position, however that wasn't the case.

"Oh my..." Someone breathed out behind her, turning back towards the door to exit the way in which they entered.

Her cover had been blown.

Wasting no time, Gwen withdrew the pistol at her side and aiming it behind her. She concentrated on the source of the sound and where it had come from as her eye remained trained on the old woman confined to her flat, awaiting her fate.

She aimed and pulled the trigger, the whistle of the silenced gun shot through the air as she was rewarded with a dull thud of a newly made corpse.

" _That was sexy_ ," the voice sung, thrilled.

Gwen sighed, "As usual, you can't help yourself." She internally hoped Sherlock would solve the blasted game quickly in order to save the woman. He needed to save her life.

The body was that of a security guard, whom had received an anonymous tip that there was something going on. He was a test, to check her loyalty.

Gwen waited as she clutched her rifle, awaiting silently as she hoped Sherlock would end all this strife to prevent any more death. However, that wasn't the case.

" _The voice is compromised_."

She shifted as the red dot danced across the woman's chest, glowering next to the explosives strapped to her body before she took the shot, her finger squeezing.

The sky bled with dust and debris as Gwen stared. She longed for the guilt, to drown in the remorse of having caused such a catastrophic situation... but she didn't. There was nothing. It was part of her, to ignore all the feelings that would compromise her.

" _Burn baby, burn!"_ he hollered in her ear, joyous at the mere sight of the building cascading to its knees while Gwen withdrew from her rifle cautiously.

She paused when she noted the red dot upon her own chest; a sniper on a sniper to make sure the job was done and carried out with success.

When the laughter reached her ears, she clambered to her feet properly and grimaced at the sound of his torment.

" _Welcome aboard to the revenge train!_ " Somehow, his voice had hitched higher: " _Choo! Choo!"_

* * *

John stared critically at Sherlock, or at least what he thought was, until the Consulting Detective met his gaze. "Have you spoken to Gwen?" He tilted his head, frowning in question, knowing that he was being stubborn for no reason seeing as he was in the wrong. _Prat_.

"No." Sherlock's reply was abrupt and his expression was evidently blank. "Why? Has she been in contact with you?" he propped his hand under his chin, frowning at John as the doctor sipped his tea.

"No." He shook his head, sighing. "You don't suppose your brother knows where she is?"

Sherlock turned his nose up at the mere mention of Mycroft. "Probably." _Of course_. He knew that Gwen was undoubtedly with Mycroft, for his brother treated her how he _should_ have treated her – his brother put him to shame because he couldn't comprehend the ability to give her the compassion she deserved... but could Mycroft?

John scoffed, " _Probably_? She's with him then?"

"Indefinitely."

John's eyes narrowed suspiciously at him, wanting to know why he wasn't determined to persuade her to come home. "Aren't you going to do anything about it?" He didn't understand why he, Sherlock Holmes, a man who evidently harboured some sort of feelings for Gwen, was doing everything he could to get her to come home.

Sherlock gave a tight smile. "She doesn't want to see me. She made that perfectly clear. You were there, you heard her, John." Gwen didn't want to be near him, and he respected that. He was an arse.

John shrugged, "She should have hit you."

Sherlock nodded. "I expected her to." He admitted that he was surprised when she retained her anger and managed to leave the flat without inflicting grievous bodily harm upon him.

"I would have paid good money to see that." John commented wryly, smirking in amusement. "Are you going to call your brother?" he prompted, setting down his cup and folding his arms.

"What good will that do, John?" Sherlock demanded, turning away from his friend to pace around the room in anxiousness. "Mycroft will keep her all to himself, just the way he likes to. Out of spite, and to keep me out of mind." He bit out, frowning in annoyance as he shook his head frantically, running his hands through his curls.

John leaned back into his chair, sighing deeply. "You need to sort this crap out..."

Scoffing, Sherlock wheeled around to look at John incredulously, his eyes flaring in fury. "I would if she would return my calls." He retorted, his voice raised as he glowered at the blonde man in the room.

John smiled softly, finding it oddly moving to see Sherlock so passionate over something that wasn't his work. "Once she's calmed down, she'll come around." He tried to comfort, though he knew it would do little to settle him.

Sherlock shook his head in disagreement. "You don't know her, John." He was worried that she wouldn't give him any more chances; he always seemed to push her to the edge, and sometimes there was no coming back from that.

* * *

Horrific. A disaster in her eyes. An entire block of flats... people were dead. Her eyes were glued to the television screen, " _The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people..._ " the report was saying as Mycroft settled into the chair opposite her. _Her involvement... her fault_. She should at least feel remorse for conducting the explosion...

"So, Sherlock..."

Gwen tore her eyes away her hands and looked at him plainly, patiently. "Sherlock couldn't help himself. He overstepped..." she trailed off, looking down in frustration, clenching her jaw tightly. "So, here I am. Segregated in your humble abode."

Mycroft sighed, clasping his hands together in his lap as he stared. "I find myself quite shocked that you would come to me of all people..." He hadn't expected her to run to him of all people, and he was frankly amused that she would find herself so comfortable in his home. He, however, didn't like how human she made him feel.

"I needed time to calm down." She admitted, frowning in thought. "I thought I would exercise it more politely than I would have done five years ago..."

" _And?"_ Mycroft prompted softly, tilting his head as her. "Have you retained your pleasant manner?"

Gwen grimaced at his patronising tone. "He knows about Moriarty."

Mycroft scoffed, shaking his head in profuse disagreement. "No, he can't know."

Gwen looked down as her phone buzzed on the arm of the chair, taking it into her hand. "How would _you_ know?" she asked as she opened the message, reading it numbly:

 **I need you to get me something. Phone me. X**

"I've been careful, my dear." Mycroft informed her curtly, arching a brow as he watched her body grow stiff. "That's him, isn't it?"

Looking up, she met his eyes easily and hummed. "He knows about Moriarty." She reiterated coldly, her gaze turning hard.

Mycroft's brow perked higher and he nodded slowly. "And you... does he know about _you_?" he ventured aloud, staring at her carefully as she shifted in her chair.

Gwen shrugged, "I don't believe so."

"Good." Mycroft quipped. "You must make sure it stays that way. If he ever finds out- "

Gwen cut him off soundly, rolling her eyes. She knew the drill, she'd always known the drill. "I'll forfeit my life. I know, how many times do you want to remind me?" She would never forget what she willing to give up.

"Just making sure the message has sunk in." Mycroft explained, watching her with a soft gaze, knowing that her situation was undoubtedly more frustrating than he would ever be able to understand.

Gwen bit her lip. "He'll hate me."

Mycroft nodded, seeing no point in avoiding the subject. "He'll get over it; Sherlock is overly emotional, my dear, _he'll get over it_." He told her forcefully, finding that he didn't like how serious and dire her tone had grown. He couldn't help but believe it was her way of telling him she was prepared to die. That she was prepared to sacrifice herself if the need ever surfaced.

"I find your words hard to believe." Gwen replied, holding his gaze sternly until he was forced to look away from her.

Mycroft grimaced in disdain, unable to meet her gaze. "They weren't meant to comfort you." But of course, she already knew that.

* * *

Wheeling around, Sherlock propelled his phone at the sofa, letting a frustrated growl pass his lips. " _Declined_. She declined the call, John!" he roared, throwing his hands up into the air as his gown billowed behind him, encasing him in his anger.

John paused as he came out of the kitchen, dodging Sherlock as he strode past him. "Give her time, she did say that to you..." he reminded, wincing when he heard the fridge door slam shut.

"This is ridiculous!" Sherlock bellowed in disgust. I didn't mean it, she knows that... And now, _now_ , Mycroft's probably fawning all over her – bloody perfect, just what I needed! Big brother to intervene."

"My god..." John trailed off in subtle shock, settling against the table and regarded Sherlock in complete shock. "You do fancy her, don't you?"

"Now, you're being ridiculous, John."

John shook his head, "That's why you're reacting like this – it's because you like Gwen much more than friends. This... I didn't expect _this_..." he laughed, clapping his hands together, giddy with amusement.

"It's hard for me to believe that you're a grown man when you act like a juvenile," Sherlock remarked, pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration recalling the bomber's movements. "... He killed the old lady because she started to describe him." He paused in thought. "Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What d'you mean?" John inquired, frowning.

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He... organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact."

"What... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that?" John thought aloud, staring at Sherlock harshly. "So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"

"Novel." Sherlock admired in a whisper.

"Huh." John murmured as he looked to the television, watching as Connie Prince's housekeeper was being escorted by Police – the murderer, the bomber, was still free though.

Sherlock scratched the back of his head in though, sighing in frustration. "Taking his time this time." He commented thoughtfully, frowning softly as he looked at the pink phone before pulling out his own phone and typing frantically:

 **I'm sorry. – SH**

John cleared his throat, still finding the entire situation odd and rather sudden. "Anything on the Carl Powers case?" It didn't make much sense at all, not to him anyway.

Sherlock shook his head, before muttering: "Nothing." His eyes traced over his phone, sighing. "All the living classmates check out spotless... no connection."

John shrugged. "Maybe the killer was older than Carl?"

Sherlock hummed, "The thought had occurred."

Folding his arms together tightly, John watched Sherlock through a lidded gaze. "So why's he doing this, then – playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?" John didn't really understand the entire thing, he didn't understand why anyone would want to play a game such as attaching explosives to random people.

Sherlock smiled when he heard his message tone echo through the air, "I think he wants to be distracted." He told John absentmindedly as he hurried to grab his phone, eager to read the reply:

 **I know. – GC**

"I hope you'll be very happy together." John muttered bitterly.

Sherlock's eyes flickered over to him, "Sorry, what?"

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives... Just - just so I know, do you care about that at all?" John demanded furiously, wishing Gwen was there to help reason with Sherlock – he couldn't do it by himself.

"Will caring about them help save them?" he retorted in vexation, rolling his eyes.

"Nope." The bitterness within John's tone hadn't disappeared as he spoke, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

Sherlock snapped back a reply: "Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

John scoffed. "And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes, very. Is that news to you?"

"No." John smiled bitterly, shaking his head. "No."

Silence fell between the pair of them as John turned away, unable to look him in the eye as both wished Gwen was there to save them from the brink of an argument that neither wanted to be having. But she wasn't. Sherlock observed John and sighed. "I've disappointed you." He observed to John's annoyance. He looked away as he typed a message:

 **Please come back. – SH**

"That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah." John didn't bother to disguise the sarcasm dripping in his voice as he continued to smile bitterly at the curly haired man sat in his chair.

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them." Sherlock seethed forcefully as John's phone rang, blocking John's reply from leaving his lips.

"It's Gwen," John announced, smiling as he noted the fall of Sherlock's mouth when he answered the call. "Hi, Gwen... are you all right? Good. Yeah, we're... coping..."

Sherlock could hear John's voice as he moved into the kitchen, grinding his teeth together in frustration. She had been his first – his friend, his confidant, his... _his!_ He gripped the arms of his chair as he internally vented. Mycroft had stolen her, and John was her best friend... He wouldn't stand for it. It wasn't fair.

It was all Mycroft's fault.

So, when his phone rang with a message from Lestrade, he was delighted to skip down the stairs of the flat to distract himself with the next part of the puzzle.

* * *

"D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?" Lestrade called to Sherlock and John as they approached, frowning when he saw that Gwen wasn't a part of their company.

Sherlock sighed as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, "Must be. Odd, though..." he held up the phone, his brow creasing. "He hasn't been in touch."

"Where's Gwen?" Lestrade pressed.

"Busy."

Lestrade sighed, ignoring how vague Sherlock was being. "But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?" he murmured under his breath.

"Yes." Sherlock replied shortly.

"Any ideas?" Lestrade asked.

"Seven..." Sherlock squinted, frowning at the body. "So far."

Lestrade exclaimed in shock and disbelief: "Seven?!"

Sherlock backed away and nodded for John to inspect the body as well, who looked over at Lestrade waiting for permission. Greg granted it. John bent over the body and began to examine the body, frowning at it critically. "He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?"

Lestrade watched Sherlock as he typed away on his phone, "Apparently not... not enough of the Thames in his lungs." He explained to John, "Asphyxiated."

John nodded in agreement. "Yes, I'd agree." He frowned as he continued to inspect the body, his brow furrowing all the more. "There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here." He gestured to the areas with his index finger.

"Fingertips." Sherlock called out softly.

"In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition." John concluded standing, straightening his legs.

"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock stated dully, frowning as he finished his search before quirking a smirk. "But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake."

"What?" Lestrade coughed, astounded by the topic change.

"We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates..." Sherlock listed, ignoring Lestrade's confusion as he did so.

Waving his hands like a lunatic, Lestrade shook his head, completely lost with what was going on. "Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. _What painting?_ What are you – what are you on about?" he laughed, though it was more out of confusion than amusement, finding that even after five years he still couldn't keep up with Sherlock.

Sherlock sent him a look. "It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters?" he announced as though it was obvious, though Lestrade continued to look at him blankly. "Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.

"Okay... so what has that got to do with the stiff?"

Sherlock sent yet another grin. "Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?"

Lestrade shook his head, puzzled. " _Golem?_ "

"It's a horror story, isn't it?" John asked, proud that he knew what Sherlock going on about, finding himself in a better position than Lestrade. "What are you saying?" he inquired.

Sherlock nodded. "Jewish folk story; a gigantic man made of clay. It's also the name of an assassin." Sherlock explained curtly. "Real name: Oskar Dzundza, one of the deadliest assassins in the world." He gestured to the dead man lazily. "That is his trademark style."

"So this is a hit?" Lestrade asked him.

Sherlock nodded again, "Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands."

Lestrade, however, continued to question him. "But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see..."

"You do see - you just don't observe." Sherlock retorted irritably, exasperated.

"All right, all right, girls, calm down." John snapped at the pair of them, wishing that Gwen was there to help settle any further feuds. He needed her. Turning to Sherlock, John sighed. "Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?"

Sherlock paused, hesitating before he spoke again. "What do we know about this corpse?" he gestured to the body again. "The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal, maybe he was going out for the night. The trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt. _Cheap_. They're both too big for him." He concluded, taking a deep breath, sparing at glance at the other two men who stared wide-eyed. "So, some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then... what kind of work? There's a hook on his belt... for a walkie-talkie."

Lestrade frowned, "Tube driver?"

"Security guard?" John guessed.

Sherlock nodded, "More likely. That'll be borne out by his backside."

" _Backside?"_ Lestrade repeated incredulously.

"Gwen would understand if she were here, she'd make it less hard work for me." Sherlock grumbled in annoyance." It's flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise." He paused momentarily, pinching the bridge of his nose between his gloved fingers. "So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too, the alarm shows he did regular night shifts."

"Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died?" Lestrade questioned him, finding the whole thing peculiar.

"No, no, no." Sherlock dismissed immediately. "The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago, meaning his routine never varied." He gestured to the watch at the man's wrist again as he began to talk faster. "But there's something else... the killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution." He rummaged around in his pocket for something. "Found this inside his trouser pockets, and held the scrunched up ball of paper. "Sodden by the river but still recognisably..."

John inspected it from Sherlock's palm. "Tickets?"

"Ticket _stubs_." Sherlock corrected. "He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing." He pointed to the body as he identified the man. "Alex Woodbridge."

When he saw the expression they both wore, he sighed and decided to explain the mystery of the painting to them. "Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant?" he asked, earning an eye roll from John. "Inference: the dead man knew something about it - something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds... the picture's a fake." He concluded a Lestrade's mouth fell open slightly in shock.

John was smiling like a fool. "Fantastic."

Sherlock gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Meretricious."

"And a Happy New Year!" Lestrade joked in a breathless laugh.

"Poor sod." John commented.

"I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character." Lestrade spoke, oddly determined to get to work courtesy of Sherlock's aid, as usual.

Sherlock immediately shot the idea down with a pointed look. "Pointless. You'll never find him, but I know a man who can." He explained, the arrogance radiating off of him. _Careful your bravado's showing, Curls..._ he could hear Gwen saying in his head.

Lestrade looked at him in surprise. "Who?"

Sherlock grinned at him. "Me." As he finished, his phone vibrated in his hand and when he looked down, his smile grew.

 **Say it. – GC**

* * *

Mycroft would be enraged, she knew that. However, what alternative did she have? If Ezra's life was at stake, she would risk anything...

She wished she wasn't the one do it, but as she carried herself down the corridor, her hands stilled upon the firearm that was nestled against her waist. She smiled when she saw a wave of people rush by her, armed, though their focus were not on her, their minds far too occupied.

Approaching the nearest desk, Gwen caught sight of Anthea as she came to a stop before her, causing the woman to look up at her. " _You_... what do you want?" she muttered, dismissing her.

Setting the two takeaway cups of tea down on her desk, Gwen sighed. "I need to see, Mycroft."

"He's busy."

Gwen gave a terse smile at how tedious it was. Her eyes landed a few yards behind where Anthea was sat, settling on the door of the person she desired to see, his office was undoubtedly locked because of the security alarms she'd set off.

"And I'm _very_ important." When Anthea didn't move, Gwen withdrew her gun and pointed it at her lazily. "No more alarms, just remove yourself." She gave her a forced smile as she rose from her chair.

"Good girl." Gwen watched her before she turned to the computer screen as pressed a few buttons leading to various codes before Offenbach's ' _Orpheus in the Underworld_ ' was blaring over the speakers into Mycroft's office.

"Any time today, Anthea," Gwen called over her shoulder. "Toddle off, will you..." Tucking away her firearm, she took the teas into her hands and kicked open his office door to see him sat with his hands over his ears.

"Guinevere!" He scowled as she set down his tea and flicked her hand, imitating the movements of an Orchestra's conductor, "Turn this racket down!"

Gwen frowned at him. "You would dare called Offenbach _racket_?" She sighed and turned the volume down, pushing his tea toward him. "I am ashamed of you, Myc."

"What is this?" he gestured to the drink before him, ignoring the use of his nickname.

Gwen rolled his eyes. "Oh calm down Myc, it's only tea. I haven't poisoned it if that's what you're afraid of," she smiled in amusement, taking a sip of her own as he cautiously copied her actions. "I like you too much to _ever_ do that to you."

Mycroft smiled at Gwen, leaning back in his arm. "So, what do I owe the pleasure, Guinevere?" he took another sip of his tea before clasping his hands together in front of him. "I trust you understand I am a very busy man, though, I am rather surprised by your... unpremeditated visit."

"Yes, well..." Gwen winced, smiling softly to herself. "I know your schedule, dear. You're not that busy today... I also held Anthea at gunpoint, so she didn't really have much choice in the matter."

Rising to his feet, Mycroft approached Gwen swiftly, his brow furrowing. "What do you want then? Clearly, you're after something..." he backed her up against the wall, watching as she smirked when she collided with it.

Gwen looked at him and shrugged, gesturing to the music echoing through the office. "I desired to descend into the depths of the Underworld, dear." She winked at him as his arms came to rest on either side of her head as the small smile continued to tug at her lips.

Sighing, she snaked her arms around his shoulders so that her hands came to rest at the nape of his neck. Mycroft grew rigid at the sudden touch, and her smiled widened. "What's the matter, Myc?" Gwen moved her head closer to his before she brushed her nose against his own. "Not so high and mighty now, are we?"

Gwen stared at Mycroft until he went to speak but she pressed a finger against his lips, noting how his eyelids trembled. "As I said, I never poisoned your tea..." she placed against his cheek, "I merely drugged it."

At her words, his eyes widened as his knees buckled. Gwen caught him in her arms and helped him to settle upon the floor as he began to mumble into the crook of her neck, drifting in and out of consciousness. "You'll wake soon enough..." Gwen whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead as a silent apology.

"Gwen..." he trailed off as he tried to keep him eyes open, his fingers clutching at her forearms in resistance.

She winced as she cradled his head in her lap, waiting for him to pass out entirely, raking her hand through his hair to calm him. Mycroft was a stressful man in his line of work. "Forgive me..." she breathed, loosening his tie to make it easier for him to breathe.

* * *

Golem had escaped, they were no closer to winning the game... and there they were, Sherlock and John at an art gallery, denying the authenticity of the Lost Vermeer painting. Gwen was still absent to both of their irritation.

Sherlock was frantically searching everything he could on his phone as he paced before the painting, frowning profusely in thought whilst John and Lestrade stood helpless. Looking up at the painting, he sighed. "It's a fake. It has to be." He asserted in absolute assurance.

"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." Miss Wenceslas protested furiously, folding her arms over her chest crossly.

"It's a very good fake, then." Sherlock snapped at her, before turning around to look at her, "You know about this, don't you? _This is you, isn't it_?"

Miss Wenceslas turned to look at Lestrade, distressed and visibly irritated. "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?" she demanded, sending them all a condescending look as the pink phone began to ring.

Answering it immediately, he held it up to his mouth. "The painting is a fake... it's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." He paused, waiting for confirmation but he was met with only silence despite the laboured breathing on the other end. "Oh, come on... proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it, I've figured it out. _It's a fake!_ That's the answer. That's why they were killed." Sherlock ranted in irate confusion at the continued silence. He took a deep breath, composing himself. "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time... will you give me time?" he implored, waiting for a reply.

Suddenly, the voice of a young boy rang out. " _Ten_..." his voice quivered.

Lestrade paled at the sound of it. "It's a kid. Oh, God, it's a _kid_!" he exclaimed, turning away.

John, on the other hand, was trying to remain calm. "What did he say?" he asked, breathless.

" _"Ten."_ "

The child's voice continued, " _Nine_..."

"It's a countdown. He's giving me time." Sherlock sighed, thinking.

Lestrade let out, holding his head in his hands. "Jesus!"

"The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?" he muttered, turning to look at Miss Wenceslas as the countdown continued in the background. "This kid _will_ die. _Tell_ me why the painting is a fake. _Tell me!_ "

 _"Seven..."_ the boy's voice trembled as Miss Wenceslas flinched, horrified.

Sherlock raised a hand to stop any input she was willing to give. "No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out..." he let out as he examined every inched of the painting. "Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face."

 _"Six..."_

John breathed: "Come on."

"Woodbridge knew, but _how?_ " Sherlock muttered.

" _Five..."_

"It's speeding up!" Lestrade groaned in worry.

"Sherlock." John warned in exasperation.

Sherlock's gaze fell upon the cluster of white dots and the penny dropped, his mouth falling open in realisation. "Oh!" he cried out.

 _"Four..."_

"In the planetarium, you heard it too." He breathed in excitement, smiling widely. "Oh, that is brilliant; that is gorgeous!"

 _"Three..."_

" _What's_ brilliant? _What_ is?" John demanded urgently.

"This is beautiful. I love this!" Sherlock smiled, typing away.

 _"Two..."_

" _Sherlock!"_ Lestrade screamed in frustration.

Grabbing the phone from John, Sherlock grinned. "The Van Buren Supernova!" he shouted into it as the ticking stopped immediately.

" _Please. Is somebody there?_ " They all sighed in relief at the voice, " _Somebody help me!_ "

Sherlock passed the phone to Lestrade, "There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up." he looked to John and Miss Wenceslas, sighing. "The Van Buren Supernova, so-called." He showed them the picture on his phone, "Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight."

John approached the painting, inspecting it himself, feeling the relief surge through him. So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?" he laughed breathlessly as Sherlock strode off, "Oh... oh, Sherl..." he shook his head, following him in disbelief.

Once again, they found themselves in Lestrade's office at Scotland Yard , Sherlock and Lestrade were with Miss Wenceslas whilst John had gone off to do some further investigating.

Sherlock was sat, frowning deeply, his hand pressed against his chin as he thought. "You know, it's interesting. Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and _you_ , Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?" He commented, looking to the woman beside him before he turned his attention to Lestrade. "What are we looking at, Inspector?"

"Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats..." Lestrade begun to list thoughtfully, frowning as he continued, causing the woman to stutter in worry.

"I didn't know anything about that!" She blurted, her voice horribly shrill. "All those things, please, believe me." She looked at Lestrade pleadingly. "I just wanted my share... the thirty million." She sighed in defeat, her shoulders sagging. "I found a little old man in Argentina. A genius - I mean, really. Brushwork, immaculate. Could fool anyone." Sherlock snorted at her words, and she amended. "Well, _nearly_ anyone."

She looked back at Lestrade, "But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine." She rubbed a hand across her face, "It was just an idea... a spark which he blew into a flame."

Sherlock looked at her, a brow raised in question. "Who?"

"I don't know." Lestrade laughed in disbelief. "It's true! I mean, it took a long time, but eventually I was... put in touch with people... his people..." Sherlock sat up when she continued to speak, his gaze growing more intense by the minute. "Well, there was never any real contact. Just messages... whispers."

Sherlock leaned forward, his eyes watched her. "And did those whispers have a name?" he demanded, lowly.

"Moriarty." She murmured in reply as Sherlock whipped out his phone.

 **I need you. – SH**

* * *

Leaning against the railing, Gwen sighed as she saw him moving towards her through the darkness. "I got what you wanted... and a little extra," She waved the files in the air as his hands clamped around them. "Of course, these are copies – I left the real ones in their rightful place as to not attract unwanted attention."

He laughed in amusement. "What was his face like? How did he handle you taking down the _British Government_ right from under his feet?" he winked at Gwen, and allowed another chuckled to pass his lips. "I bet it was a picture."

"A pretty one." Gwen added.

He nodded in agreement, "I appreciate what you've done, don't think I don't appreciate it, Neve." He gestured to the files, smiling warmly. His smiled, however, dissipated when he looked at her properly. "That was a nice shot, by the way."

"What can I say? I was always a good shot..." Gwen sent him a smirk, inwardly cringing at how they were mocking the death of several innocents... all so she would remain undetected. _Pathetic. Cruel._

The friendly gaze had transitioned into slits, regarding her coolly. "Why did you run off?"

Gwen rolled her eyes, "I'm not hiding from you."

"Then why deter from your orders?"

Gwen sighed as her phone beeped, "Excuse me... Oh, he's so dramatic for a government official..." She paused and pulled it out to read:

 **We need to have a chat. – MH**

Sensing her discomfort, he sighed, tucking the files behind his back. "How is Mycroft Holmes's hosting abilities these days?"

Gwen met his gaze with ease. "Admirable, almost applaudable." She explained effortlessly, tucking her phone away on her pocket "What do you want?"

"Just checking in, love." He sent her a wide smile, chewing the gum in his mouth feverishly. "You haven't been replying to my messages."

She knew she had done so deliberately, but only so it ensured an audience with him. She knew he would request to see her. "I've been busy." Gwen offered, bemused, as she watched him closely.

His eyes narrowed. " _Busy?_ "

"Crafting the lie, living the lie... Holmes the Younger has been asking questions concerning Ezra." Gwen emphasised, reiterating what he originally desired of her and watching as his brow perked at the name. "It was for self-preservation... may I speak with him?" she prompted immediately, hope swelling within her chest as she held herself properly, composed and blank.

Pushing past her, he began to walk away again, swinging the files in his hand. "I don't think you've deserved it. You did run away after all." He called over his shoulder, sending her sickening smirk her way before adding: "And besides, Uncle Jim is the safest thing for him right now."

She cringed at the words and he flashed her a wide grin. "Don't play this game with me, Neve. You'll get caught in the crossfire." He purred, warning her, as his hand caressed her cheek. "You don't want to do something stupid..."

"I've been in the crossfire, and I've been shot as well..." Gwen replied, allowing her eyes to close in defeat at the sudden want of freedom and liberation. "I was a part of something, now... I want out."

Ignoring her plea, she was left alone in the darkness once again, her fists clenched at the depravity. _Uncle Jim... the Satanist_.

* * *

"Sherlock! What if there's someone in?" John exclaimed in question as they approached the flat, panicking until the door swung open from the inside.

"There isn't. I checked."

John wheeled around, startled at the new voice in the room, his mouth falling open when he saw Gwen leaning against the bannister. "Jesus... " he breathed out before smiling at Gwen. "Where are we?"

Sherlock sent Gwen a smile when he saw her, throwing an arm over her shoulder in greeting. "Oh, sorry, didn't I say?" he said in mock-surprise, squeezing Gwen's shoulder.

Gwen sighed, smiling slightly at Sherlock's gesture. "Joe Harrison's flat."

"Joe..." John started, looking between the two of them, finding the entire exchange odd.

Sherlock grinned as he pressed a kiss to Gwen's head before he moved towards the window, watching as a train went by from the tracks outside. "Brother of West's fiancée. He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law." he announced, peering own at the window seal as he found small speckles of blood.

"Then why'd he do it?" John asked as they all heard the jingling of keys rattling within the lock of the front door.

"Let's ask him." Gwen suggested, pushing herself off the arm of the sofa as she saw John withdrew his firearm from the back of his jeans.

They all stepped out onto the landing as Joe was leaning his bike against the wall, dressed in courier gear. When he caught sight of them, he raised his bike to attack them until John raised the firearm at him. "Don't! _Don't_." He lowered his bike in resignation and frustration.

"Someone's been a naughty boy..." Gwen sung, slipping back into the living room.

They sat them down on the sofa, and all stood before him, imposing enough for him to spill the truth about the Andrew West case. "It wasn't meant to... God." he breathed in exasperation, his head falling into his hands. "What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus." He whispered in disbelief.

"Why did you kill him?" John questioned him.

"It was an accident." Sherlock snorted at his words, "I swear it was."

Sherlock frowned as Gwen scoffed, "But stealing the plans for the missile defence programme wasn't an accident, was it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him incredulously. "I think you might experiencing some mental incoherency... or you're just plain stupid." Sherlock smirked at her words, something John didn't miss.

"I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I dunno-– I dunno how it started. I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands... serious people." He admitted slowly, bristling at Gwen's tone. "Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job." He sighed in annoyance, evidently regretting his mistake. "I mean, usually he's so careful, but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune."

He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself as he continued. "It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew." He spared a glance at Gwen, who regarded him through a glare.

"What happened?" John asked.

"I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late." Joe rushed out, his eyes pleading with Gwen, who continued to regard him coldly. "I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking."

" _A small fight_ doesn't kill a man, Joe." Gwen spoke, his tone deadly low as she crossed her arms over each other.

"When a neat little idea popped into your head." Sherlock added, interjecting the story to conclude the events. "Carrying Andrew West way away from here... his body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved."

"And points." John added, making Gwen smile.

Sherlock nodded in agreement, "Exactly."

"D'you still have it, then? The memory stick?" Gwen prompted, watching Joe as he met her gaze before he nodded.

"Fetch it for me – if you wouldn't mind." Sherlock ordered as Joe rose to his feet, disappearing into another room. He moved towards John and Gwen, "Distraction over, the game continues."

John sighed, scratching the back of his head in thought. "Well, maybe that's over, too. We've heard nothing from the bomber."

Sherlock shook his head in disagreement, "Five pips, remember, John?" he reminded, watching as Joe handed the memory stick to Gwen, before he added: "It's a countdown. We've only had four."

"All this trouble for that," Gwen sighed, passing the stick to Sherlock.

Sending her a grin, Sherlock clutched the stick in the palm of his hand. "Guinevere, I've missed your brain."

* * *

Gwen sighed as she hugged her mug of tea to her chest, smiling when she heard Sherlock's shouts of annoyance from where he sat in his chair, hollering at the television screen. "No, no, _no!_ Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in utter exclamation.

Glancing over his shoulder, John shook his head in disbelief. "Knew it was dangerous."

Sherlock frowned, "Hmm?"

Gwen laughed, sitting down on the sofa as Sherlock looked over at her. "Getting you into crap telly." John told him.

"Not a patch on Connie Prince." Sherlock replied.

Gwen scoffed, "A real housewife, this one..." she commented as Sherlock sent her a look.

"Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" John asked, rising from his seat at the table, shutting the screen of his laptop.

Sherlock grimaced at the subject. "Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood... again."

John smiled, sending Gwen a small smile. "You know, I'm still waiting." He teased, moving to fetch his coat.

Sherlock frowned, "Hmm?"

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker." John explained, knowing that due to his stubborn streak, he would never do so because of his unwavering amount of pride.

"Didn't do you any good, did it?" Sherlock mused.

John scoffed, noting the look of amusement on Gwen's face as they bickered playfully. "No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective."

Sherlock nodded. "True."

"I won't be in for tea." John called to the pair of them.

"I hope Sarah's worth all this hassle." Gwen commented, going into the kitchen, patting John's arm as she did.

John smiled, "She is. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge." He pulled his coat on, turning to look at the pair of them. "Uh, milk. We need milk." He reminded pointing to the fridge, though he knew Sherlock would forget and not bother.

"I'll get some." Sherlock replied, earning a surprised glanced from both John and Gwen.

They both asked in unison: "Really?"

" _Really_."

John stared at him for a moment. "And some beans, then?" Sherlock nodded as he turned and walked through the door. As soon as John was gone, Sherlock rose from his chair and followed Gwen into the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Gwen."

She nodded, "So you said." She let out, acknowledging that he accepting he had been in the wrong.

Sherlock sighed as she turned to face him expectantly. "Texts, I find, are sometimes difficult to interpret." He told her, clenching his jaw in anticipation.

She frowned, "Perhaps."

"I didn't mean to pry..." he stepped towards her suddenly, making her lean against the sink, watching him carefully. "I was excited about solving the case, and I- I... I don't know."

Gwen smiled sadly, looking down as she noted how uncomfortable he was. "That's the problem, though, isn't it?" she asked softly, meeting his gaze. "You don't know when to stop... and one day, it won't be enough."

Sherlock sighed, "You have secrets, you demand privacy..." he let out slowly, knowing that he didn't even deserve to have her there with him. "I understand that, and I respect that."

"Do you?" Gwen questioned, tilting her head at him in question. "I don't think you can handle not knowing."

Sherlock moved towards her still, "Who is he then?"

Gwen stared him blankly. "Who?"

"Ezra and whoever it is who's texting you."

Gwen licked her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Acquaintances. They're both very important to me." She told him, knowing that that wouldn't be enough for him, not enough to stifle his intrigue.

Sherlock reached out to touch her but hesitated immediately, regarded control over himself. "I won't pry again." He vowed, though Gwen found that hard to believe.

Gwen smiled at him, placing a hand on his arm. "I find that hard to believe. When I deem it relevant, I will tell you." She told him gently.

Sherlock frowned, "Are you in contact with Mycroft?"

"Yes."

Sherlock watched as she moved around him, and he couldn't help himself. "Are you safe?" he blurted, noting her mysterious behaviour.

Gwen turned to face him briefly, shrugging. "I don't know."

Sherlock caught her wrist in his hand, pulling her back towards him, needing to know. "Do you need protection? Help? Or-" he started as she saw the panic arise in his eyes.

"No." She pulled out of his grasp and moved away, taking her coat in her hand as she fled through the door, leaving him standing there alone. "I've got to go."

"Gwen!" Sherlock called after.

Hearing his shouts, she ignored Mrs. Hudson as the landlady caught sight of her rushing through the front door, out onto the street, following John out into the streets of London.

Turning up the collar of her coat, Gwen hissed as the icy wind as it whipped around her, she strode down the street, knowing that such a thing was precarious especially when her life was in question.

Stepping through the door of yet another tucked away teashop, Gwen spotted Mycroft lurking at a table in a quiet booth, a table placed far from prying eyes and extendable ear to allow for their conversation.

Stopping abruptly, she stared at Mycroft, struck by the air of power and isolation radiating from as he looked so _perfectly_ cool, sophisticated and elegant in his _perfectly_ tailored suit- his legs crossed _perfectly_ , his face _perfectly_ impassive. She noted that his lips were pursed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap as he waited.

Mycroft glanced toward the door, uncrossing his legs as he rose to his feet, watching as she started towards him, a crease forming between his brows as he noted her hesitancy.

Mycroft pulled a chair out for her, "Good afternoon, Guinevere."

"How's the head?" Gwen breathed out, not missing the glare upon his face.

"What did you take?" He snarled.

"Nothing," Gwen sighed, rolling her eyes playfully at him. "Didn't you check? I'm absolutely sure everything is there, all neat and tidy, in alphabetical order like your OCD prefers it." she took a sip of her coffee with a smirk.

Mycroft sighed and placed his head in his hands realising in disarray that nothing was missing. That worried him more. "Well, you must have done something! People do not drug other people's tea for fun!" He whispered lowly, his eyes flashing dangerously at her.

Gwen sighed. "You don't know anything about me." she trailed off in thought before adding in spite: "How's the root canal anyway, I never asked before..."

"Fine." Mycroft glowered at her; rolling his eyes at the woman before him. "Your acquaintance has been having quite a bit of fun... I imagine you're enjoying yourself as well?"

"You have no idea." Gwen sent him a placid stare, her face blank and emotionless. "I do applaud you though, you're remarkably plucky... or naïve, to isolate yourself in a teashop with someone like me." She offered a shrug of her shoulders as he continued to frown at her, obviously not liking her tone.

"You're naïve if you believe I would risk myself so openly. I know who you are, and what you've done..." Mycroft watched as Gwen reached for several sugar packets to pour into her coffee. He frowned, wondering if she was distracting him deliberately. She never took sugar. "Moriarty does have a nice ring to it, I suppose. _Miss Moriarty_."

Gwen's eyes remained blank. "Pardon?"

Mycroft shifted in his seat once again, his head rolling to the side to look at her properly. "You know exactly what I mean." He reiterated softly, stirring his own drink idly.

A chuckle escape her lips at the name, a soft smile creeping onto her face in amusement. "You're wrong. It's the Holmes arrogance..." Gwen leaned back into her chair, "It shrouds the judgement, and then gets you into all sorts of trouble."

"How often are you in connection with him?"

Drumming her hand against the face of the table, Gwen frowned, debating whether or not to answer him. It wasn't until his hand enclosed around her wrist that Gwen's smile widened. "Communications are frequent." She informed curtly, allowing her fingers to dance over the flesh of his wrist in reply. "I've told you before; I will not let any harm befall you, Sherlock or John. I am the target because I got out... I'm not going back to that life."

"Guinevere, that is what I require of you." He didn't miss the flash of resentment in her eyes at his statement, noting how she tensed up at his words. His grip, however, remained firm on her wrist and he smiled slightly when she didn't pull away. "MI6 requires some undercover operative work from you... you would be a most valuable asset to us in the long run. We would be grateful for the cooperation; you're already close to those who hold the power."

Gwen's face shifted and she let go of his writ, leaning away to fold her arms over her chest tightly. "And what if I decline your offer?" she dared to ask, frowning. Mycroft had an odd way of asking for help.

"I will have you convicted for your crimes; there will be a trial in which you will serve a life sentence for your disorderly conduct, crimes against the British Government, and treason." Mycroft listed all the rimes that would choke the life from her, knowing that he had the upper hand that would allow her to play into his palm. She couldn't resist. "We both know you don't really have much choice in the matter, my dear."

"There is always a choice. One option is always, I find, more appealing than the other." Gwen straightened herself, clicking her neck in her frustration, glancing away momentarily so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. The guilt, one day, would eat her alive. But as she sat at the table, she felt like she was drowning from the sheer weight of all the strife she had caused and put an end to.

"Guinevere, do you accept?" Mycroft asked abruptly, drawing her attention back to him. She would give in, no matter how proud she believed herself to be.

She met his cold orbs and sighed: "You don't understand: it's very likely that I will die. Inevitable if you want to be dramatic about it."

Mycroft realised that he should have approached the situation with more care noting that Gwen was never one for theatrics, and that what she said was more likely true than not. "You have been involved your entire life, you will always be caught in the middle because you will always fight their battles..." he paused to sip his drink, wanting his words to sink in rather than settle as meaningless. "There is no escape."

"Why does this feel like a briefing?" her eyes glittering blankly, void of any emotion. "Is this a briefing?"

"This is your new order of employment. One you _will_ accept, and one you _will_ not desert. I'll send a car for you when the time comes to discuss your first... mode of operative work, yes?" Mycroft propped an hand under his chin, smiling at her politely, a smile that made her stomach turn. "It would be in your best interest to wholeheartedly accept my offer, and be mindful, Sherlock doesn't take well to those you continuous betray him. I would ask you kept this from him."

Gwen blinked. Former trained assassin and freelance mercenary... and now, spy for the British Government. Gwen's eyes flickered to the clock, "You have a meeting in twenty minutes…".

Mycroft had a smug look on his face when their eyes met again. "Well I would if-"

She cut him off knowingly. "If you didn't reschedule..." Mycroft had only rescheduled little over an hour ago. "You couldn't wait to meet me and you had no idea when I'd visit to your office again so you decided to prioritise me, I'm flattered."

He sat back in his seat a little, evaluating her. "What is it, my dear?" At Mycroft's gentle inquiry, Gwen looked up at him. The crease had deepened between his brows and his lips were pressed into a thin line, radiating concern.

Gwen sent him a quick smile. "You don't need to worry..." she glanced around the room, smiling more naturally as she took the in the tea shop. "I've always wondered, how do you find these places?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I have an app?" Mycroft smiled when she laughed.

Gwen smiled in amusement, then sighed. "I apologise for the tea..." Mycroft's hand stopped midway to replacing his cup in the saucer. Gwen noted he was staring at her, a soft epression on his face. "Sorry – did I say that out loud?"

Mycroft set the cup down, then stroked his chin with a finger, struck in thought. "Yes, my dear, I believe you did." His lips twitched, the crease deepening on his brow before he looked away. "You never apologise."

Gwen nodded. "There's a first time for everything." He turned back to her with his brows raised, and she sighed. "I am sorry, Mycroft." She dropped her face into her palms, rubbing her forehead and then lifted her eyes toward him. "He has this way..."

He took a sip and set the cup down, then leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and flicked a piece of lint off his knee. Without looking at her, he continued: "You're intelligent enough to know his plans, Guinevere." He finally looked at her, a wry twist to his lips. "Obviously, it's not my area –"

"If I recall, that's what you said about friendships, Mycroft, and now look at you … wasting an hour of your _busy_ schedule sharing a secret teatime with me." Gwen tried to lighten the mood but Mycroft's expression didn't shift, so she gave in and allowed her shoulders to drop. "It's his web... once you're in it, there's no getting out. You're trapped forever."

"Not necessarily," he commented before clearing his throat. "Anyway, it's not a secret – we're in a public place ..." He looked around, grimacing, "… where anyone could walk in." He gave her a small smile. "How's Sherlock?" Mycroft pursed his lips, brows raised. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Sherlock is Sherlock... he's been giving John a had time," Gwen told him through a sideways look. "I haven't spoken to him yet, though he seems to be his usual volatile self."

Gwen found Mycroft staring at her with an intent look in his eyes. He blinked a few times, then cleared his throat. "I..."

His voice was muted when text tone trilled through the air, attracting Gwen's attention to her phone and she opened the message:

 **You lied, Neve.**

"I need to go..." Gwen announced standing up, her face paling immediately as a gentle grip on her wrist stopped her from moving away. She looked and found Mycroft's hand wrapped around her wrist as an unfamiliar warmth crept up her arm.

"Will I see you again? Or is this it?" He asked, trying not to get his hopes up in case he never saw her again after this encounter.

"I don't know... it feels like it did last time." Gwen admitted, clenching her jaw in disdain. "It wouldn't be such a terrible thing, would it? To be out of your hair... it would give you fewer things to worry about."

Mycroft clenched his fist, not liking the tone of their conversation at all. "Does he not care for you? _At all?_ "

Gwen smiled. "More than you could ever know."

Mycroft pushed his chair back, dropping at note onto the server's plate before escorting her outside of the teashop. "Why did you do it? Why was it worth it?" he asked, his hand at the small of her back as he bent towards her ear.

His car was outside waiting for him when Gwen paused, turning to face him. "For Ezra... I would do anything." She saw the flash of confusion flicker across his face before she turned her collar up again, feeling the icy gust and recoiling slightly. He would offer her a life, and she would decline... as propriety warranted, as always.

Mycroft clasped his hands together in front of him. "Who is Ezra?"

Gwen smiled sadly, stepping away from the eldest Holmes brother with finality. "Goodbye, Mycroft." Her words came out as a whisper as she turned and strode off down the street.

She was contemplating returning to Baker Street to sort out her issue with Sherlock and to put an end to the animosity between them before she left the country again. It only made sense to finish on good terms... or if she left as it was, then he wouldn't be inclined to pity her loss. She couldn't decide.

Turning a corner, she winced when she saw a familiar black Mercedes lurking ahead of her, though it didn't belong to Mycroft. Sighing, she continued to walk until the door swung open as she passed it.

Glancing around her, she let go of her dignity and what resistance she fought within herself and climbed into the car.

"How was your date?" A voice immediately spat out before she had even sat down.

"James," Gwen acknowledged as she frowned at him, wandering why he had chosen to pick up as a mean of communication. "I presume you're referring to the teatime with Myckie, yes? I did steal from him after all, and he's one for theatrics."

He let out a dry laugh, straightening out his suit as he reclined in his own seat. "Don't give me all that bollocks, Neve. You don't have tea with a man out of respect or because you stole from him..." he drawled, closing his eyes as the car began to move.

"You misunderstand the circumstances." Gwen countered firmly.

"I always thought you were a great liar, you know." He told her in amusement, arching a brow at her in question. "Take this as a friendly warning, Neve. Do not let something as stupid as feelings come in the way of why you are here or I may have to intervene. We all know what happened last time, very messy... so much blood."

She watched him silently, awaiting his next move.

The car came to a stop as he forced the door opened, "Get out." He ordered, making her stare at him in confusion. "I'll be waiting for you at the pool."

Shifting back towards the door, she sighed. "Pool?" she guessed it was the destination he intended to meet up with Sherlock for a "final showdown", but she never liked him speaking in riddles. It terrified her to no end.

He laughed, pushing her out into the night, allowing darkness to envelope her in its inviting arms. "Don't drown... laterz." And with that, the car sped off down the street, leaving her standing there, slightly in shock and overcome with anxiousness that caused her hands to shake.

She wished it wasn't the way it was, being his little puppet. She wanted to give it all up, to tell the truth to those who sought it out, to those who wanted it. Mycroft would soon arrest her, and interrogate her for her crimes. To learn knowledge of Moriarty.

Sighing, she shuddered against the sudden change in wind, almost crumbling to the floor in disarray at the brute force of it. Her phone rang as she pulled it free from her pocket, not bothering to check who it was. "What?" Gwen let out in a hiss.

" _Guinevere._ " the voice was a little shaky at her sudden outburst, obviously having not expected it.

Letting out a sigh, Gwen pressed a hand to her forehead, rubbing it in the hope of regaining her self-composure. "What is it?"

" _Are you all right?_ " Mycroft asked, his voice cautious and low. " _You seem a bit agitated... especially earlier on, I noticed…_ " He trailed off.

"I'm fine, it's nothing."

Mycroft sighed from the other end, evidently not believing her words. " _It doesn't seem like nothing-_ "

She cut him off, "Why do you care?" Her voice broke against her wished as her eyes started to sting from the tears that had crept within them. "I find it incredibly hard to believe seeing as all I do is complicate your life more than it is already, because that's what I do!"

Mycroft could hear the tears in her voice as he felt his heart tightening in his chest at the prospect of her crying. He took in a shaky breath before replying a few moment later, " _I... I worry for you._ " He admitted against his pride.

Gwen shuddered, "It won't get you any kudos, Myc. The sentiment's not worth it. I am not worth your concern..." She didn't like the worry he harboured for her, and it make her feel uneasy... she didn't like it one bit.

" _I disagree with you._ "

Gwen smiled sadly at his words. "Of course you do. You mustn't phone me again; it's too dangerous for you to be in contact with me." She explained in slight amusement, sobering up from her tears to steady herself.

Mycroft sighed. " _You're being ridiculous._ "

"I thought drugging you would warn you to stay away..." Gwen told him earnestly, imploring him to listen to her wishes, to respect them and abide by them. "You don't have a choice, Myc."

" _Gwen-_ "

"Thank you for caring, Mycroft." She blinked away the tears, the smile spreading over her face more widely. "Well, you don't have much of a choice, I did drug you so we have to be…" she let out a watery chuckle as Mycroft laughed on the other end of the phone.

" _Meet-_ "

Gwen winced as she felt a soft vibration come through her phone. "Goodbye, Mycroft." She told him softly before hanging up.

 **There is a car waiting outside for you. – MH**

Gwen sighed and found his efforts admirable, choosing to reply.

 **I'm not home. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. – GC**

* * *

Perched at a window in the building next to the swimming pool, Gwen had a clear line of view from her window through the east side of the pool.

Her mind was racing madly at the prospect of betraying Sherlock. He would arrive soon. She didn't know whether or not to believe that Jim was actually going to reveal himself to Sherlock or that he intended to continue to play his game. She knew that a sniper was train on her, ready to take her out if she resisted and deterred from her orders. She wasn't stupid.

 _You'll know the signal._

The only thing she'd been told. It was obvious that she wasn't to be trusted with too much information, and so they had chosen to keep her in the dark, and keep her waiting.

Through her scope, she saw the door open from the far end, but due to her line of sight, she was unable to see who had entered.

The moment she saw Sherlock come into her line of sight, she felt her breathing hitch at the mere sight of him, knowing that if ordered she wouldn't be able to shoot him. It would never happen. She couldn't do that. She knew she had grown soft, and had been tainted by the weakness that was sentiment. She had gone soft. The one thing she had sworn she would never become.

Her breath stopped all together when John stepped into view, encased in a heavy coat, stuffed with explosives as he visibly shook, his hands raised.

She tried to calm herself but she couldn't do it, her breathing was ruptured and she couldn't do it to John. She wouldn't stand for it. It had just become much more difficult to control than it was already. If Jim did arrive... who would she shoot? Could she even shoot them?

Moving her concentration back to Sherlock, she watched as he withdrew a firearm and held it past John's head, to something by the door.

It wasn't long before she heard his voice ring out through her ear piece, "Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket... or are you just pleased to see me?" Jim taunted, smirking in amusement at Sherlock from where they both stood at opposite ends of the pool.

"Both." Came the detective's reply.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Jim exclaimed, way too enthusiastic given the circumstances, giving them a wave as John turned to look at him. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? _Oh_. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." He gave a deep sigh, his smirk growing wider by the second as Gwen tried to ignore the tone of his voice, a tone she should have grown accustom to. "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle... I don't like getting my hands dirty."

Gwen shuddered at his choice of words, readjusting her aim as her scope remained trained on the back of Sherlock's head.

Jim continued: "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see..." he broke off into a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets as he wandered forwards teasingly. "...like you!"

Gwen tried to gather her composure, wanting to get control over herself to will herself to stick the task set before her... but Sherlock stood in her way, as did John. They were her friends, and she didn't have many of those... they were hard to come by for someone in her profession.

So, if Jim ordered her to take either of them out, she knew what her decision would be. She would falter, she would pay the price... she wouldn't be able to do it for the sake of having shared friendship with the pair of them. It would ruin her, to have to live with knowing what she had done. She couldn't do it.

Jim was still chattering away by the time she concentrated on the conversation again, taunting Sherlock. "... But the flirting's over, Sherlock... Daddy's had enough now!" he sung in torment, wiggling his finger at him. "I've shown you what I can do; I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play." She'd never seen Jim so thrilled by the game in all the years she had known him, and it unnerved her to know that he got a kick out of taunting the great Sherlock Holmes. "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this – this little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay." He shifted between accents then, going from a classic Londoner's to his native Irish tones, smiling all the more. "Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." Sherlock told him, countering Jim's speech.

"That's what people _DO_!" Jim exclaimed, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"I will stop you."

Jim smiled, shaking his head. "No you won't, Sherlock. If you can't even catch my little spy, then who's to stay you're even capable of manhandling me?"

Gwen shuddered again when the encounter got more heated, leading to Jim throwing the missile plans into the pool in his frustration. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere..." he drawled out, smirking.

Unexpectedly, Gwen's aim shifted to John as the doctor's arms enclosed around Jim's body, restraining him. She took in a deep breath, awaiting the order to do her job as Sherlock raised the pistol at Jim. "Sherlock, run!" John's voice echoed as Jim laughed.

When Jim finally made to leave that her nerve began to shift, to rattle in worry and crack under the pressure. She observed as Sherlock tore the vest off of John Watson, launching it as far from them as possible to check to see if he was all right – she smiled, noting how protective he was of his friend. His companion. The true one. She wouldn't dare pull the trigger on Sherlock for the sake of his friendship with John. She wouldn't dare.

She felt her finger tighten around the rim of the trigger as she watched the scene, waiting for something to happen.

It wasn't until Jim returned, his huge grin plastered across his face that Gwen's nerve finally broke and caved in, causing her to abandon her rifle. "Sorry, boys... I'm so changeable!" he exclaimed as she rose from her spot in the window, discarding her weapon in the process.

She saw Sherlock lower the gun to the vest he had thrown away, issuing the threat to Jim but she never saw anymore after that...

* * *

Wincing, she came around to the distant ringing of a phone. The more she tried to see, the more pain she was met with, like a barrier preventing her passage. Bringing a hand to her face, she sucked in a sharp breath when she felt the swollen flesh on one side of her face, throbbing like a great plump welt.

Licking her lips, she hissed when her tongue met the sharp indentation of a split lip. She tried to sit up but hit her head against something hard and firm above her, she squinted to save what vision remained to her as she looked around her. Darkness. Nothing but darkness.

Blindly, she searched for her phone, fumbling around curiously. When her hand encircled around its body, she brought it to her ear. "H... hello?"

" _Guinevere, are you all right? You never came back with Sherlock..._ " It was Mycroft. " _Where are you? Are you safe... are you in trouble?_ "

Leaning back against the cold surface beneath her, she coughed, hoping to clear her throat. "I... I don't know... it's too dark to see, and my face – _ah_ , from what I can tell..." she trailed off, feeling along one side of her face, "has been on the wrong end of a fight."

When he next spoke, she could hear the panic in his voice and she didn't like it. " _Is your GPS on?_ "

"God knows..." She wouldn't be able to tell him even if it was.

The line went silent for a moment, and she feared Mycroft had left her alone.

A few moments later, his voice reached her ears again. " _Right, I'm coming to get you... don't move, stay put._ " He ordered in his most stern tone, though she didn't miss the unevenness lurking in its depths. " _You're near Westminster, Gwen..._ "

Gwen managed a laugh, though it pained her. _Cracked ribs, lovely..._ "You hate legwork, dear." She commented, rousing a forced chuckle from the man on the opposite end.

" _For you, I seem to be willing enough to go against the norm._ "

Gwen smiled, though it pained her, at his words. "Never... knew you were that soft... on me, Mycroft Holmes." The pain in her head turned into a symphony of banging, causing her breathing to become laboured as she felt her grip on the phone loosen.

" _Moriarty did this, didn't he?_ " Mycroft was saying. _"... you said that..."_

Gwen hummed at Mycroft's voice, trying to listen to it. "I picked... m-my side... Myc." She felt herself slipping, and she tried to stay conscious and at least wait until he came to her. Her face throbbed and all she wanted to do was sleep.

" _Gwen?_ " Mycroft's voice drifted into her ear again.

"Myc..." she swallowed, her breathing coming out in a sharp rasps. "I'm scared..."

She smiled to herself when she heard the drastic change in his voice, the sternness of his words. She knew her words had unsettled him, and she knew Mycroft would do her justice. He would find her. " _Gwen, you need to stay conscious_."

Feeling along the body of the walls around her, she concentrated on his voice as she realised her form of confinement, robbing her of breath. "... Coffin..." she managed, letting her head fall back entirely. Defeated.

" _What?_ " Mycroft pressed, he sounded out of breath, like he'd been running.

"You're running." She commented, amused by the sound of his voice.

" _No, I'm not_." He retorted, scolding her, " _Now, what did you say just then?"_

 _So, he does care..._ She smiled to herself stupidly, letting the phone fall from her ear. "Coffin... I'm in a coffin..." and she'd never felt so afraid. But she never got that bit out as she was engulfed by her newly found companion: darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

White. Pristine. Clinical. Natural. Clean. Pure.

Everything she wasn't. Poetic justice for her to be isolated in a room to humiliate her.

She glanced down and observed the restrains at her wrist, tilting her head in question , she turned her hands over and winced when her skin scraped against the sharp metal. She straightened her head when she realised that it must have been Mycroft's doing.

 _Betrayed._ The word fizzled through her mind, causing distaste to rise in the back of her throat.

Turning her attention to the glass screen in front of her, she clenched her jaw and returned to staring blankly before her. It was a game, a hope to unnerve her, to get her to talk. Gwen wasn't desperate, never had been. She would not beg, _she would not_. She would wait until he gave in. She had been taught, she knew what she was to do.

She wasn't expecting any visitors... not anymore. She'd told them nothing... even if she wanted to, it would have been too much. Her voice was ruined. Her voice box was slowly healing but speaking was painful. She didn't speak anyway; she didn't need to if she didn't see anyone.

The man she noted, seemed to regard her more with pity than anger, which made her wonder how much Mycroft had actually found out about her past... and that there was the possibility that Jim had turned her over. It didn't sit well with her. Not at all.

She didn't like talking about herself, and she hated it more, knowing that stories about her were being exchanged, sharing gossip in whispers about had been overheard in hallways. None of them would know the full story, the true story, the story of how she came to be. She wasn't willing to share that.

Not with anyone.

Neither did she want their pity.

She didn't deserve the pitiful, sympathetic expressions on the guard's faces in the morning after a particularly restless night of nightmares that had him waking up to inhumane screams he belatedly realised were his own.

She wasn't expecting any visitors. He was even more surprised when the door opened and revealed her visitor. She didn't recognise him. She'd never seen his face before.

Gwen remained silent as the guard took the seat opposite her. _Was it a trick?_ She wondered.

"How are you, Chevalier?" he asked after the silence had stretched on far longer than was comfortable, raising a brow at her. "You can call me Hicks."

Gwen didn't answer.

"That's a silly question, I know." Hicks shrugged and leaned back in his chair in a gesture that was far too casual. He looked relaxed, _too relaxed_. "I know you're wondering why I'm here. The truth is, I'm not sure myself. The boss has been going over and over everything... he's told me some things I don't like. I can understand why he wants nothing to do with you."

Gwen shifted in her chair, uncomfortable with the conversation but doing her best not to show it. If she ignored him, maybe the man would go away.

Leave her to her solitude, to the hell of her own making.

"I find his attraction to you odd, I know you bring power... but he's blinded." Hicks's brow furrowed, his dark eyes troubled as he recalled something, a memory he wasn't willing to share but one that obviously didn't sit right with him in hindsight. "Oh, Mycroft doesn't understand. He's all about the power that comes with his job. Though I suppose he does care, he's been raising hell about it. There was no one there for you, was there? No one to see what Moriarty did to you, no one to turn to when those doubts started creeping into your mind."

It was the pity that did it, the attempt at sympathy that caused Gwen's stomach to roll. "I don't want your sympathy. It means nothing. _You mean nothing._ "

"That's not up to you, Chevalier. But then nothing's been up to you, has it?" Hicks paused as though waiting for a response. When nothing came, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table between them. "Why aren't you angry, Chevalier? Why don't you hate him? Why don't you hate him for turning you in, after all, we are trying to protect the country from your kind. Why aren't you angry with Moriarty for beating you up, treating you like shit... Surely, you're angry because Mycroft missed all the signs, because he let him do this to you?"

Gwen closed her eyes, trying to compose herself.

"I know you blame yourself... that's what you do, isn't it? With Moriarty... It's all your fault so you deserve everything you get. You deserve them to be angry with you-"

"I tried to kill them." The words were hoarse.

"If you'd wanted them dead, they would be." Hicks sighed when Gwen said nothing. "You made your decision... I worry for my boss, and to be honest, I think he really cares for you."

"Mycroft?" It was almost unnoticeable, but the man noticed Gwen sit up in her chair. Her shoulders, which she'd allowed to slump, immediately tensed again. "What's wrong with him?"

The corners of Hicks's mouth twitched but he didn't smile, not completely. "He's having a hard time of it is all. Can't seem to get his head around everything. What you did, why you did it. Why no one picked up on it and stepped in before it got this far."

Gwen didn't know what to say so settled for saying nothing.

It seemed enough to satisfy Hicks, as he nodded before getting up from his seat. He knocked on the door and waited for the guards to return to let him out.

* * *

Anthea shut down her computer and checked her watch, realising for the first time in a long while, she was leaving early. She placed her handbag on the desk, then tapped on Mycroft's door and stuck her head in, peering around the room.

"I'm leaving, sir." Frowning, Anthea stepped through and walked slowly to his desk when her eyes landed on him. "Sir?"

Mycroft, who had been leaning back in his chair, chin resting atop his fingers with his eyes closed in thought, abruptly sat up and turned to look at her, his face completely unreadable. "Goodnight, my dear."

Her gaze dropped to his fingers, which were fiddling with his pen. His hand immediately stilled in its movements. When she looked back up at him, he arched a brow in question.

"Any developments?" She pressed, knowing that it was undoubtedly Cheavlier who was occupying his mind.

He grimaced at her question. "No."

As the door closed behind her, Mycroft picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles for several seconds, then he let out a long breath and tossed the pen on his desk in his own frustration.

* * *

"Why is she restrained?" Mycroft glanced to the side to see Sherlock moving towards the glass screen, frowning deeply in thought as he stared at Gwen, completely blank and quiet.

Mycroft sighed, clasping his hands in front of him. "She was particularly volatile last night..." he gestured to the locks on the chair briefly, earning a raised brow from his brother. "It was the safest option." He offered, though he knew it was the cowardly one.

Sherlock laughed, practically hummed as he pressed himself against the glass, ogling her like a child would do at the zoo. "Oh, she hates you. Just look at her." He flashed a grin at Mycroft, knowing it would disconcert him further. "The fury of loathing is radiating off of her. Fascinating, really." He marvelled, his eyes wide with intrigue. "Has she said a word?"

"Barely."

Sherlock turned to look at his brother, watching as the man visibly struggled to even look at the woman he had incarcerated. "How long has she been in there?"

Mycroft coughed to clear his throat. "Little over two weeks..."

"And yet she phoned you for help." Sherlock commented, turning to face his brother entirely. He studied him for a moment, taking in his rigid posture. "You betrayed her by locking her up... that's what you're so reluctant to go in there yourself."

"She is a security risk, brother mine." Mycroft brushed him off with an eye roll.

Sherlock scoffed, not believing his brother's behaviour or regard of _their_ mutual friend. "She trusted you. Mycroft, she won't tell you anything while being in there..." he trailed off as he turned to look back at Gwen. Despite her face being blank, he'd never seen her look so sad, so full of despair.

Mycroft sighed, finally allowing his eyes to fall upon her as she sat rigidly in the chair. "She only asks for me. I can't bring myself to go in there."

"Let me try."

Mycroft almost choked as he heard Sherlock's suggestion. "And what will you do?" he mocked, recoiling at the mere thought of giving his brother a privilege he wouldn't even allow himself.

Sighing, Sherlock tilted his head as he regarded Gwen for a moment. It was fairly obvious. "Treat her like the rest; a client. We'll let her speak, we'll listen and then, and only then, will we judge her situation." Sherlock looked to Mycroft and gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing it would only infuriate him further. "I won't make the same mistake as you _. I'm the smart one._ "

Mycroft bristled immediately. "There is a difference between being smart and being sentimental, Sherlock." He stated through ground teeth, his jaw clenched in the hope of maintaining his frustration.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Sherlock began to move away in long stride. "At least I didn't lock her up." He accused over his shoulder, leaving Mycroft's face to plummet.

* * *

She looked at the guard, almost as if for help, but the man avoided her gaze and slowly let the door close behind him with a metallic clang that echoed around the quiet room. "You are to make yourself presentable for travel."

Once the restraints were removed, Gwen gravitated towards the clothing that had been lain across the bed. She plucked each layer and began to dress, swiftly masking her form to adorn her mask.

Stepping outside of the door, Gwen sucked in a sharp breath when she saw Mycroft stood, perfectly composed and clutching his umbrella behind his back. She regarded him for a few moments before brushing past him to leave.

"Guinevere-" Mycroft started, catching her wrist to force her to face him. He was taken aback when he was met with a hardened glare, her eyes cold and unforgiving as she ripped her hand free. He collected himself, straightening as she turned away, leaving him uneasy.

Baker Street was quiet by the time she had arrived with Mycroft in tow. She hadn't spoken to him the entire car journey, she'd barely allowed her eyes to wander his way.

As soon as she passed over the threshold of 221 Baker Street, she was forced against the wall when a hand found its way to her throat, restraining her. Gathering her strength, Gwen grappling her attacker into the opposing wall before forcing him to the floor in one swift movement. Straddling their waist, Gwen reeled her fist back to throw a punch when an arm enclosed around her throat, pulling her away.

Wheezing, Gwen hissed and elbowed the other attacker in the gut before she heard a loud clatter. Reaching to the floor, her hands quickly enclosed around the object as she held it tightly.

Someone turned the lights on, and Gwen stared wide-eyed at the ground as Sherlock climbed to his feet, brushing himself off whilst the person behind her let go, who she guessed could only be John.

"Jesus..." John breathed at the sight before him.

Gwen, heaving, held the firearm that had tumbled out from the back of John's trousers in Sherlock's direction as the two of them maintained eye contact.

"Ah," Mycroft sighed as he helped John to his feet, sending Gwen a disapproving look.

"Gwen, what the hell are you doing?!" John exclaimed, clenching his fists tightly as he shrugged off Mycroft's hand to glare at Gwen. "Please tell me this isn't true – you can't be one of his men. You can't!"

Lowering the pistol, she sighed in defeat. Brushing a hand over her forehead, she sent John a sympathetic glance. "I can talk or I can leave... which would you prefer of me?" Gwen asked as softly as she could manage.

"Upstairs, _now_."

Gwen blanched, lowering her head as Sherlock and John moved towards the stairs, both barely looking at her. It wasn't until she felt a hand at the small of her back that she regained her composure, immediately moving from Mycroft's grasp to jog up the stairs after them.

Stepping into the flat, Gwen whitened entirely when she watched Sherlock draw up the chair ready for her to take a seat in. "You can sit down," Sherlock told her mildly but she remained standing, and so he continued to stand himself. "... or not." She stared at him, her dark eyes seeing far too much and giving nothing away.

"For God's sake!" John breathed.

Sherlock looked over at his friend, "What is she John?"

"Our _lying_ friend." He bit out the words, glowering at Gwen.

" _What_ is she?"

"Fine," John gave a stiff nod of his head, "We'll do it your way, like we always do..."

Sherlock frowned. "John- "

"Sit in the chair, _Guinevere._ That's where _they_ sit." John hissed as Gwen met his eye, cringing at his tone of voice. "Is that even your name?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course it's her name John, don't be stupid. You aren't _that_ good at deductions."

Giving in, she let go of the breath she'd been holding and moved towards the rickety chair in the centre of the room and sat herself down, clasping her hands together neatly. At her movements, Sherlock and John sat in their respective chairs whilst Mycroft lingered behind her, choosing to lean against the doorframe.

Sherlock had his hands folded under his chin as he watched her, allowing the silence to continue for a little while longer before questioning the woman who sat before him.

Mycroft, on the other hand, grimaced. "How long does this charade usually take, brother mine? The swifter, the better."

"Then go." Sherlock spat in the direction of his brother and continued to stare at Gwen as she frowned, awaiting her judgement. When he finally spoke to her, his voice was solemn and quiet. "I'm sorry."

It took her a moment to process what he'd said. "Are you... why would you feel that sentimental?" John scoffed at her words, causing her to glance over at him as she took in his appearance. "And you, _you_ don't know what to think that's why you're so angry..."

Sherlock sighed, his expression flickering from blank to pained for a split second at her tone before he composed himself again. "You were doing your job; it was personal... you betrayed us, yes..."

"We thought you were one of us, Gwen." John pointed out, gritting his teeth. "You turned out to be the enemy..."

"We just didn't realise it." Sherlock added thoughtfully.

Gwen hung her head. "You should be angry with me..." she told them quietly, guilt seeping into her voice. Her throat hurt, but she wasn't sure if it was from talking or because of the emotions she felt clawing up inside of her. "I'm the traitor."

"But you're not," John's outburst caused her to look up in surprise seeing as a few moments ago he was completely furious with wild rage. "You were never part of him," he continued, not missing the way she flinched at the almost accusing tone.

Sherlock sent John a nod in agreement. "You've been Moriarty's puppet since you were a child and none of us picked up on that. None of us knew about him and we _should_ have. _We_ should have known."

"I…" Gwen started to speak but stopped herself. "I don't know what you want me to say," she admitted eventually.

"I don't want you to say anything." Sherlock seemed frustrated, and also, conflicted. "I feel that I should hate you," he told her honestly, and Gwen winced. "I want to, but I can't... I've read your file. _All_ _of_ _it_. Not just the parts Mycroft deemed necessary for me to and it sickens me."

Gwen shrugged, "He doesn't have all of it."

Sherlock frowned, "How do you know?"

Gwen sighed and tapped her left arm, "It's my life, I get to choose who sees it." She watched as Sherlock wondered over to his lab placement in the kitchen, retrieving something before coming back into the room to hand it to her. "Whatever you read on _that_ file was what _he_ wanted you to see."

Everyone in the room stilled when the door opened to the flat, revealing a rather shaken Mrs. Hudson dressed for bed. "... What was all that banging... Oh, Gwen..." her words failed when she saw Gwen sat in the client's chair with Mycroft stood behind her.

"Mrs. Hudson go back to bed." Sherlock spoke to the landlady, "Nothing for you to worry about." He added, knowing that she was reluctant to leave, but eventually did so as Gwen moved.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft demanded when he realised Sherlock had handed her a scalpel. He strode forward, looking at Gwen in outrage as her hand pressed along the inside of her arm, feeling around for something.

"Every precaution had been taken to avoid any blackmail or corruption within the network..." she continued as though Mycroft hadn't spoken, pausing in her movements to roll up her sleeve as she moved the small blade towards the space just below her elbow joint.

"Whoa, whoa – what are you doing?" John asked, his voice rising in worry, his eyes widening in panic.

With one slick incision, Gwen abandoned the scalpel to push along the skin, wedging something out that was covered in her blood. Catching the tea towel Sherlock threw at her, Gwen wrapped it tightly around the wound as she wiped the small memory card to clean it. "I trust you will look after this, seeing as it holds my life." She placed the card in Mycroft's palm, not bothering to look at his way as she did so.

John smiled in amusement when he saw Mycroft's recoil at the memory card, "Why was that in your arm?"

"Because I put it in there, John." Gwen stated, as though it was obvious. She knew getting frustrated wouldn't help the situation seeing as it was messed up enough already. "I'm sorry."

"For what? What are you apologising for?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed angrily. "You're sorry you had the unfortunate luck to be born into a horrible family? You're sorry you were manipulated, that Moriarty brainwashed you into being a weapon he could exploit?"

"I'm sorry for betraying your trust." She was, genuinely. If she could go back in time and change it, she would. "I did leave... I tried to leave the first time..."

"How involved are you?" Sherlock frowned slightly, still remaining quite calm as he then proceeded to ask her the same questions he had the last time they'd seen one another.

Gwen smiled sadly, "Blood binds us."

Sherlock's gaze flickered to Mycroft momentarily, "Are you safe?"

"No."

His brow twitched in worry. "Do you need protection?"

"No."

"So..." John began in thought, "This is all undercover work, then?"

She knew Mycroft would have her head if she was to speak about what he had asked of her, but the man had betrayed her trust. "Yes," she admitted, knowing that her job would only be harder from now on, having to play both sides better than she was already.

"Who are you?"

Gwen stared blankly. "I told you... Guinevere Chevalier."

John snorted, not believing her as he profusely shook his head. "No, you're not."

Sighing, Sherlock sent John a sharp glower, kicking the arm of his chair to jolt him. "John, please control your tongue from running away senselessly." He reprimanded irritably. "Of course that's her name!"

"You asked the wrong question." Gwen commented dryly.

John rubbed his forehead. "You are his sister though, aren't you? Moriarty's your brother, isn't he?" he demanded, looking between the two Holmes's in the room for some sort of help, but none came.

"His father isn't my father, and my father isn't his father."

"Wait..." John started.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen shifted in her seat, growing uncomfortable with the conversation. "He is Moriarty. I am Chevalier." She explained plainly, not knowing how to simplify it further than that.

"Your father..." Sherlock frowned in thought, drumming his fingers against his chin. "Curtis Chevalier? Assassinated on Bastille Day in the Gardens of the château de Versailles." He reeled off as Gwen watched him curiously, silently impressed by his knowledge.

Gwen nodded in agreement, barely reacting to the topic change. "He deserved it." She told them, her eyes deadened and void of emotion as Mycroft cleared his throat in discomfort. She'd never seen the expression of such disgust on John's face before. She laughed. "You can think it all you want, but I didn't do it. I should've but I didn't."

"Does my brother know about your involvement in the explosion?" he asked, noticing how John tensed again from the corner of his eye, his fists clenching.

"I did, brother dear."

Gwen ignored him. "The hostage was a test for me, not you. Moriarty wanted to test my obedience and loyalty. Did you ever wonder why he revealed himself to her?" Gwen pressed, tilting her head in question, watching as Sherlock stared at her. "As soon as she saw him, I was destined to take her out. It was inevitable; you were never going to save her life."

Sherlock have a short nod.

"Oh God, so it was you!" John breathed, staring at her wide-eyed, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Why didn't you tell us? We could've helped you."

" _Help_?" Gwen let out in a scoff, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "John, the more people you involve in a situation such as this, the more likely they are to get hurt. I couldn't afford that risk... why else did I choose to keep it a secret if it was to be all for nought?" her eyes latched onto John's and she shrugged. "I don't need help. I've needed help."

"Which one were you?" Sherlock pressed, and Gwen didn't need for him to be anymore specific.

"I was trained on your head."

Sherlock nodded in thought, "So, you were in the building next door, positioned on the east side of pool, waiting in a window. You had an excellent line of shot from that window, and you're focused, so focused in fact."

Gwen watched him, intrigued that he knew all that he did, and so she remained silent, allowing him to continue as she waited.

"You don't like what you do, that's why you kept it from me... even after I asked if you needed help, you insisted on keeping it a secret." Sherlock's eyes flew to Mycroft suddenly, "You blackmailed her, didn't you? Threatened her to keep her silence, to keep me in the dark, didn't you? _Didn't you?_ All because you desired to have an undercover operative in Moriarty's network! How selfish of you!"

"Enough, Sherlock." Mycroft warned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he noted that Gwen spared him a quick look before turning away again.

"Moriarty is already suspicious enough as it is, which means I need to be inventive." Gwen explained, taking a deep breath. "I need to come up with a new game to preoccupy him before he turns me over to the French for my crimes... I can't have you two interfering with my affairs. I won't stain my hands with your blood."

John sat forward, "Why would he turn you over to them?"

"Why would he keep me now that I've openly defiled him?" she countered as John rose to his feet.

Moving towards her, he gestured for her to stand up. Gwen sent him a curious look before doing as asked, waiting for whatever John planned next. What she didn't expect was for him to wrap his arms around her, pulling her into his chest to embrace her tightly. "We're going to work this out..." he muttered, sighing deeply.

Her arms still hung loosely at her side as she looked to Sherlock, frowning at John's behaviour as she hesitated to respond. Slowly, she managed to lift her arms to return his embrace and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry, John."

Gwen pulled herself away from John, unwrapping the tea-towel and chucking it aside as she moved into the kitchen to clean away the dried blood. "I'm afraid this battle is between family," Gwen announced, knowing that none of them would take kindly to hearing those words.

John scoffed in outrage, "We're as good as!"

"And I would prefer it if you were alive!" She slammed her hands down on the counter, causing John to jolt and Mycroft to wobble as he lent against his umbrella. "What I mean to say is... I don't expect to survive this vendetta."

Mycroft sighed, "You're being ridiculous."

For the first time, Gwen looked at him properly, holding his gaze. "And you are too familiar." Her reply silenced him.

They continued to stare at one another for a few more moments before Mycroft finally looked away from her. Rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, Gwen shifted her gaze from Mycroft as she moved back into the living room. "I deserve this..."

Sherlock frowned, "You don't deserve to be in this position." His tone was soft, almost tired sounding, weary as he spoke to her.

"You didn't deserve that cell either," Mycroft added, drawing her attention back to him.

"Then you should have thought about that before putting me in there," Gwen replied sourly, the bitterness dripping from her words. Turning away from him again, she bit the inside of her cheek. "I've killed people..."

"We know what you did," Sherlock interrupted, and it was only because he looked pained that Gwen stopped. "We know you've killed people, we know you've been following Moriarty's orders since you were a child, before you'd even joined the network. Your loyalty was always to him than to anyone else and I understand that. I don't want to, but I do." He paused, collecting himself properly, rising from his chair so that they were all standing. "But you're safe... He doesn't deserve your loyalty."

"I know that now. God, believe me, I know that now."

"I do. I do believe you, Gwen, and that's why we're here for you." Sherlock moved towards Gwen, coming to stand right before so she couldn't look anywhere else but at him. "I asked you, before all this, if you knew who you were... I have a new question: who do you want to be? Who is Guinevere Chevalier?"

Her mouth went dry as she looked at Sherlock, searching his eyes. It was a valuable question, Gwen knew that. One she'd asked herself so many times but had never been able to come up with a suitable answer. She held Sherlock's gaze as she answered quietly: "I want to be the woman I pretended to be. The one you all thought I was."

Sherlock smiled, a genuine smile, and nodded, pleased. "Then that's what you're going to be. It's not going to be easy, but we'll help you -"

Gwen stared at him in defiance, and he sighed, sounding more sad than frustrated. "You want to be punished, Gwen? _Fine_. This is your punishment." He spared a look at his brother before smirking. "You're going to be released into Mycroft's custody, so he can keep a close eye on you. You're going to work for MI6, answering directly to him. These are your new orders, meaning that you will serve the British Government. You will be the person you want to be. That doesn't mean you get to deliberately put yourself in the line of fire or take unnecessary risks. It means you do your job and you live long enough to figure out how to be who you truly are. Is that understood?"

Gwen hesitated.

"I said, is that understood?" Sherlock repeated, his tone firm and commanding tone, one Gwen wasn't used to.

Gwen grimaced, "Yes," she agreed reluctantly, surprising Mycroft at her compliance.

"If you would wait in the hallway, Guinevere." Mycroft ordered softly, stepping to the side as she deliberately knocked her shoulder with his own, jolting him forward as Sherlock chuckled.

As she stalked down the stairs, Gwen pulled on her jacket to come face-to-face with a rather worried Mrs. Hudson. She could hear their voices upstairs in the flat, discussing her. It unnerved her. "Gwen, are you all right, dear? Why were you in the chair?"

Gwen shrugged, "It was an experiment; Sherlock's idea." She replied smoothly as the older woman smiled at her. "I apologise for the shouting, and banging from earlier."

"Do you want a cuppa?" She asked but Gwen knew the answer. "There's no point me trying to get any sleep..."

"I'm afraid we can't stay, Mrs. Hudson." Came Mycroft's voice as he descended the stairs. "We're on a very tight schedule... Guinevere, if you would collect your necessities and follow me."

Ignoring his stare, she entered her flat and immediately began to fill a bag of clothes before going into the bedroom, wedging the loose floorboard free to retrieve the several firearms hidden under there, tucking one into the back of her trousers and the others into her duffle bag before throwing it over her shoulder.

As she left her flat, she could hear John begging Sherlock to not let her leave and it made her cringe. "Night, fellas!" she called, stepping through the door to see Mycroft standing patiently, waiting for her.

"Get in the car, Guinevere." He ordered sternly, his eyes falling upon her as he opened the door for her. She didn't see much point in resisting, and so climbed in.

Mycroft climbed in after her, sitting opposite her so he could watch her. It wasn't until the car started moving that he finally spoke. "I believe I told you not to let my brother catch on, did I not?"

"That's exactly what Jim wanted, sorry." Gwen told him honestly, wincing. "He wanted me to get caught so the game could begin. He's testing me, to know which side I'm on... and being in a car with you, _a Holmes_ , isn't particularly appealing for my chances at survival."

Leaning forward, Mycroft's hand fell upon her knee. "You will be staying with me in the meantime." His voice was gentle, so gentle, that it unnerved her.

She looked down, staring at his slender fingers as they curled around her knee in a reassuring squeeze. "How can you stand to touch me?" She hadn't meant to voice the question and she wished she could take the words back.

She wasn't even sure she wanted an answer.

Gwen wanted to look him but instead found her gaze fixated by Mycroft's hand, by his fingers slowly moving from her knee to grasp her hand. "Because I'm not afraid of you. Because like everyone else, I know what you've been through and I wish you'd trusted me. Because," he continued, feeling betrayed by the feeling of sentiment, "because... because it breaks my heart to know what you went through, Gwen."

"Everything I've done... everything you've read..." Gwen shook her head, unable to understand his reasoning. "You- you said I made you sick, I heard you say that."

"What- what he made you – made me sick... it makes me _sick_ that no one realised what Moriarty was doing, both to you and in the grand scheme of things. It makes me _sick_ to think your parents let him do this to you and did nothing to stop it. It makes me _sick_ that you had to do things you didn't want to do but did because you didn't think there was a way out for you. It makes me _sick_ that you've spent everyday of your life living under someone else's thumb, following orders like the good soldier you were trained to be because you've never been given the chance to find out what else Guinevere Chevalier is capable of being."

Mycroft was breathing heavily by the end, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glistened. It made Gwen smile.

"This is a second chance, an opportunity for you to earn the right to be who you want to be." Mycroft held her gaze as a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Gwen's fingers tightened around Mycroft's before she even realised it. "I want to fight," she told him, her voice hoarse as her throat ached from the tears she was keeping at bay. "I want to be the person you think I can be."

"Good." Mycroft smiled at her.

"I'm going to need something," Gwen started, her eyes falling upon their hands. "Something that is appealing enough to him, something important enough to return me to his good books." She told him, waiting for his reply.

Mycroft's gaze narrowed, "The double agent emerges."

"It will keep me alive for a little while longer." Gwen smiled softly. "If you want information, Myc, you've got to give some up yourself. To even the scales."

Mycroft stared at her. "I'll look into it." He replied with a curt nod before his demeanour changed entirely. "You're treading on very thin ice, my dear. Do not blackmail me with your safety... I am not one for caring, it's a sentiment I do not favour..."

"And yet, you still care." Gwen interjected.

* * *

Sitting in his darkened office, he watched as the contents as he swung it absently in circles, each time the contents came hazardously close to spilling over the rim. Gwen Chevalier was perhaps the most endearing thing he'd ever laid eyes upon. There was something about her that made his mouth run dry and he found holding a conversation with her somewhat difficult to maintain. He found his words left him and often, his mind was void of any thoughts.

 _This is ridiculous_ , he thought to himself as he heard her movements upstairs, filtering around the room he had put her in. _I am a grown man, who should not be acting this way..._

The ascent towards her room was a precarious one. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Gwen stripped down to a vest top that practically hung off her body. His eyes scanned the valley across her shoulders, frowning when they zeroed in on the platoon of white lines on her back.

His eyes ghosted over her as she lent over the desk in the room, bracing herself as she tensed, gripping the side of the wood.

He cleared his throat softly, making her aware of his presence for the first time since he'd stepped into the room. She whipped her head around, tensing up. His heart ached. There were tears in her eyes as she rubbed her forehead, turning around to lean on the desk.

"Myc?" She asked, frowning at him.

He blinked. He moved his eyes up to greet her, and hoped that he was giving off a non-threatening appearance.

Her skin was pale and smooth, like the polished porcelain of a china doll. He smiled slightly when he spied the fine dusting of freckles across her nose and her cheekbones. Her hair, though dripping, was the shade of dark cinnamon. It was her eyes, however, that drew him in and held him captivated; the orbs that shocked him, reminding him of chocolate, something he was inclined to divulge himself in. Rich and warm.

"Are you all right?" Mycroft said, his voice soft like velvet as he felt a heat spread across his cheeks.

Gwen smiled confusedly at him, causing his heart to dip in his chest.

"I…" His voice sounded odd, distant and fragile. "It doesn't matter." He quickly turned on his heel to flee from sight.

Frowning, Gwen pushed off of the desk and started towards the door. "Wait a minute, Mycroft." She called him back to her, wanting to know why he had come to then flee.

Pausing in his movements, he gulped. He felt as though he'd been scorned. He glanced over his shoulder to look at her as she approached him. "Yes?" he dared to ask.

Gwen studied him for a moment, a crease forming in her brow as she made him turn to look at her properly. "You came here for a reason." She deduced, taking in his appearance as her phone buzzed in her pocket.

 **No. Nothing. Are you all right? – SH**

Sighing, Mycroft stepped back into her room, feeling uneasy as her eyes ghosted over him. "You're restless... whatever is the matter? You're practically driving me _insane_. I can hear your movements from my office." He explained, earning a soft smile from Gwen as she watched him, bemused by his explanation.

She smiled, looking down to her phone. "Sorry about that... "

 **Odd. Don't worry. – GC**

She turned her attention back to Mycroft, noticing how rigid he'd grown and sighed. "You're going to have to get used to my... behaviour." She winced at her own words, wanting nothing more than to amend them immediately. She went to explain when ringing echoed through the room, making her roll her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake."

Mycroft closed his eyes when he heard the tones belonging to his brother, hearing his low baritone on the other end of the phone. Sherlock would forever serve as a reminder that Gwen was off limits.

Gwen clenched her jaw as Mycroft turned to leave; her hand jutting out and clasping around his forearm to prevent his escape. "No, it's not that. He does this thing... _a game_." She sighed when Mycroft sent her a desperate look, and she pulled him back entirely. "Like the fairy tale – Brother's Grimm! Hansel and Gretel, no, just listen to me." Gwen cut off Sherlock's attempts to interrupt her as Mycroft freed himself from her hold and moved to occupy one of the chairs in the room. "He _always_ leaves something for me to find..."

Sherlock hummed on the other end, " _And has he?_ "

"No idea." Gwen replied, scratching the back of her head in annoyance. Moving towards her bag, she rooted through it until she withdrew an envelope, riffling through the contents; passports, birth certificates, medical notes... _Nothing._

Sherlock sighed into her ear, " _Ask my brother. I do believe he rather likes you._ "

She didn't appreciate his teasing; his teasing to show that cared, and that he was jealous. There was no need for it. "Stop it." She ground out before ending the call, rubbing her forehead in thought.

When she looked over toward the window, she met Mycroft's gaze and held it, her brow furrowing at him. "What did he leave behind?" Gwen pressed, abandoning her bag to walk over to him, looming over him as he saw in the chair, clasping the arms between his hands tightly enough to make his knuckles go white.

Mycroft tilted his head at her. "Pardon?"

"Moriarty." Gwen let out tersely, throwing her hands up into the air, feigning despair in the hope he would answer her sooner. "He _always_ leaves something for me..."

Mycroft stared at her, his eyes widened when he saw the pleading look within her own, searching him for an answer he didn't know. "Like what?" He watched her features as she faced an internal argument with herself and he couldn't help the small smile that quirked his lips. She was so animated, her features told a story – one he wouldn't mind spending his life discovering.

Kneeling before him as he sat in the chair, Gwen looked at him, inspecting him as she stared. "Come on, Myc... think about it." Her eyes bored into his, picking away, layer by layer, trying to find what was hidden. "It would have been there when you found me, he wouldn't have tried to hide it."

There was something about her; something so alluring that tempted him and drew him to her... that demanded his most primitive instincts to protect her, to pursue her... to save her.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure but she was so close to him; he could smell the spice and could feel her hot breath against his cheek. It would so simple to kiss her; to gently cup her cheek, and run his thumb along her lips before he trailed his hand to the back of her neck to tilt her chin, and then and only then, capture her lips in a kiss.

His lips were so close to hers, and the thought flashed through his mind, it startled him enough to force him to stand, almost knocking her over in the process. He didn't. – that would've only made him feel worse. He had to put some distance between them. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted on his feet as he tried to figure out what was happening.

Gwen stared up at him, surveying him silently as she noticed the expression he wore. "There was something..." she climbed to her feet, straightening herself. He stared at her, his brows frowned as the silence stretched on. "Go fetch it, will you?"

When he left the room, her phone buzzed again.

 **You looked ravishing tonight. Mycroft's quite dishy too... if I were gay, that is. – SM**

 **What is it? – GC**

 **Westwood. – SM**

 _Sebastian Moran..._ She grimaced at the name. Moriarty had brought in the big shots to put her to rest for good... old acquaintances. She shuddered at the mere thought of it. Feeling her breathing spike, she stumbled back as her hand came up to cover her mouth, the back of her leg hitting the bed. His had eyes on the house. They were being watched. They weren't safe. _Shit._ Her narrowed on the final message, and she internally crumbled. _Westwood..._

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She watched as Mycroft crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. She looked up slowly, noting that his waistcoat was parted and his tie departed. She could see the base of his throat thanks to the opening of several buttons, a square of bare chest that was glittered with hair.

She swallowed audibly. _Take him out. Leave._

"My dear?" He stretched a hand out, and he took her hand, tilting his head, eyebrows raised in concern as he passed a folded photograph to her. He stared as she stepped closer to him, placed her right palm to his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart. _Is she calming herself..._

Mycroft's face was impassive, but his eye shone as he cleared his throat. "There was only this, though I didn't make much sense of it." He nodded to the paper as she unfolded it, finally looking away from him. " _Au revior..._ I gathered it was a threat."

"Of course it is," Gwen grumbled, feverishly opening the paper as air was swept from her lungs. Gwen's legs buckled, and Mycroft's only just caught her around the waist, hauling her up to stand.

Confused, Mycroft stared as the photograph drifted to the floor. It was of two separate images that had been stuck together; a man and a boy. Both remained clueless to him. His attention was shifted when she pulled herself out of his arms furiously.

"He means to turn me over to the Parisian Government." Her voice was shaky, broken and hoarse as she strode over to the window, peering out of it with a deadened gaze. "We're being watched."

Mycroft tried to ignore her words, turning his attention to the matter at hand. "Why would he do that?" He tried to ignore her words. He was part of the government, he would ensure their safety – they were safe. He wouldn't have her tell him any different.

Gwen, however, remained standing, her shoulders tensing with each passing second she stood at the window.

Mycroft beckoned her with a hand. "Come and sit."

She finally crossed the room, and sank into the chair across from him, propping a foot on the coffee table that separated them as she checked the clip of the gun next to her. She avoided looking right at him.

"Gwen –"

"I _did_ hear you, Mycroft." She met his eyes, her own wide with fury. A burning rage. Gwen ran her hands through her hair, grabbing fists of it and pulling, groaning in frustration, her eyes tightly shut. She hard a noise from Mycroft and looked at him suspiciously, to find him regarding her with concern, eyebrows raised. She let go of her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears, and dropped her hands. Taking a deep breath, she slumped back into her chair. Meeting his eyes again, she sighed. "The crimes I've committed... they will ensure I am dealt with accordingly. He means to sell me to the French by making me look the guilty party in my father's assassination."

Mycroft studied her carefully. "What do you mean?"

Rising to her feet, she began to pace. "... he'll kill him too, he can't..." she started to mutter under her breath, her teeth jittering.

"This is ridiculous, Guinevere," he said evenly, "and I have very little patience for this sort of childish behaviour. I often feel exhausted by my little brother's antics but I don't expect this from you." He rubbed a hand over his face, then gave her a quizzical look. "I've willingly participated in this with you, for the sake of retribution... " He pressed his fingertips together, rested his chin on them, then looked at her with raised eyebrows.

Gwen turned to look at him, her features stressed with panic. "My father was a very important member of the government on France. He bore very traditional ideologies." She explained, her eyes running over him hastily, frowning. Sinking into the chair, Gwen cleared her throat, trying to steady her hands to regain control. "I trust you know he had an affair with my mother whilst she was married to Moriarty's father?"

Mycroft gave a soft nod of his head. "I didn't know everything. His death was covered up fairly quickly..." He admitted that he barely knew of the Chevalier conspiracy, and he hadn't entirely been sure if she was Curtis Chevalier's daughter; he had been so sure she was a Moriarty. _So, so sure._

"I didn't kill him; he had our mother taken out because she was too liberal." Gwen started with care, her eyes staring into nothing as she played over the events in her mind. "At the time of his death, he was involved in a severe political scandal with the Russians, and I had just begun my career in the special forces because that was what he wanted me to be. I didn't resist, I- I was too scared to even think about that..."

Mycroft had never seen her in such a state. Her eyes were maddened, crazed looking. Red and glassy as she spoke, her voice hoarse and cracking. "I don't need to know this, Gwen... I can see you're struggling." He reached forward to touch her knee but she moved away, resisting his intervention. "I'm aware that your father loved you- "

" _Loved?_ " Gwen repeated, her gaze darkening at the mere mention of the feeling. Shaking her head, she folded her arms over her chest crossly. "The sentiment was foreign to him, Mycroft. Everything he did, every decision he made, was for himself. My loving father was a monster." She ground out the words with such loathing that Mycroft cringed, flinched at her tone. "I knew it. _Jim knew it_... Because I like you, I'll tell you and what I do tell, is in absolute confidence."

The tension in Mycroft's shoulders dropped, and he could feel himself letting down a bit of the guard he had built up towards her. His gaze fell to the floor, a soft smile playing on his lips, and the tops of his ears unmistakeably pink; he was touched by her confession. It was rare he was liked.

He looked back up at her, his eyes soft. Gwen's eyes widened slightly and her breath caught in her throat. Struggling over her words, she tried to speak but nothing came.

Silence fell over the pair of them; neither awkward nor tense.

Mycroft inclined his head in thought, shaking his head softly. "Gwen, you don't have- "

Her brows frowned at his words, and she couldn't stop herself. "I fell pregnant." She blurted with little thought.

He gave a tired sigh, his hand running through his already mused hair. He was coming to a startling realisation; he could handle politicians, terrorists and all that sort but he realised it more difficult to handle this woman, especially when she was looking at him like that, as though her entire world was going to end.

He gave her a stiff nod, realising that he knew next to nothing about her. Since when had she been a mother? Why didn't he... how could she... _How did he not know?_ "You had a child?" He managed quietly, clearing his throat, sitting on the edge of his chair.

"I _have_ a child." Gwen corrected, feeling the stinging of tears swimming in her eyes as she blinked them back. "He's my contract to Jim."

Mycroft pursed his lips, then sighed. "Guinevere, this is not a conversation I ever imagined having." He raised her chin with a finger, forcing her to look at him as the tears finally leaked from her eyes. "I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with..."

Sinking to the floor, her hand sought out the photograph which she grasped tightly. "He'll kill him." Her voice was barely audible but Mycroft heard the words leave her mouth.

Mycroft just looked at her, soberly, then turned to sit beside her, long legs stretched out before him. He went against his own morals. He slipped his left arm around her back so she was resting against his chest. She stared at him and seeing the warmth in his eyes, she burrowed her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Mycroft shifted his arms to circle her back, rested his head against hers, and closed his eyes, waiting while Gwen continued to cry, quietly. She eventually began talking, muffling a few incoherent words. He understood very little of what she said, but didn't question her. He simply held her, occasionally running a hand over her head.

When Gwen quieted, Mycroft loosened his hold, cupped her face and pressed his lips to her forehead. She opened her eyes as a tear escape, falling to her cheek and he caught it with his thumb. "It's all right."

Mycroft ran his fingers through Gwen's hair, cupping his palm around the back of her head. This was Sherlock's job; he was the sentimental, emotional one. Mycroft begrudged crying. He sighed and shifted under her. She took that as a sign and sat up with a apology. "No, stay where you are – if you want to."

"I can't be here." Gwen sighed, allowing her head to hit the foot of the bed as she sobered up. "I'm putting you danger the longer I stay." She looked to meet his gaze, pausing when she saw a heated glint lurking.

"Just stop talking, do you ever know when to just zip it woman?" Mycroft let out irritably, frowning at her slightly before he raised his right hand, sliding it through her hair to rest against the nape of her neck while they stared at each other in silence.

She opened her mouth to speak, and Mycroft silenced Gwen in one swift movement. He placed a hand at the back of her neck and the other around her waist, pulling her in then lowering his lips to hers.

It wasn't what he intended to initiate, but she stopped talking all the same.


	8. Chapter 8

A mistake. A horrible mistake. A horrible mistake plagued with distress and despair on her part. _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

She sat the edge of the bed, hunched over as the chill of the night met her back, causing her skin to ripple from the cold. Glancing over her shoulder, she sighed in defeat.

Mycroft was on his back, covers at his waist, his left arm bent over his head whilst the other was lying nearest to her. His forehead was smooth, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes closed. As she studied his sleeping features, guilt swept through her. She felt like she was invading his privacy, that she was intruding...

Grabbing her phone, she typed out a quick message before sending it off to Jim:

 **It's done. – GC**

When she looked back at Mycroft, she smiled sadly at the despair of betraying the rarity of his sentiment. Something he rarely gave out.

 _She felt him slowly drag his tongue against the side of her neck while licking and nipping at the sensitive skin, making her hum. Latching his lips onto her pulse point he suckled at her flesh, drawing loud breathy moans from her lips._

 _"Mycroft," she whispered, almost desperately, when his teeth scraped against her skin._

 _At the sound of his name being pulled from her lips, his kissed her suddenly as her hands slithered into his hair, steadying herself against him._

She didn't like the guilt. She never did. It reminded her she was human, and that was something she never particularly liked to acknowledge. It felt wrong to use people through the means of intercourse to get what she wanted... she had never resorted to that before. It felt wrong either way.

 **How was it? – JM**

 **I'll get you what you want. – GC**

 _Bending his knees, he picked her up and pulled her onto the bed, blindly moving her into the centre as her legs wrapped around his waist. She bunched his shirt up in her hands and drew it over his head, feeling the heat radiating from his body._

 _Tearing his lips away from hers, he gazed down at her, his eyes taking her in; her hair mused, her lips swollen, and her breasts moving up and down with her heaving breaths. When her neck fell to the side, he fastened his lips to her skin, trailing them from her mouth to her neck._

 _Putting his hands on her hips, he slowly slid them up the sides of her body, watching as her flushed skin appeared as he pushed her tank top up and off her body._

Resting her hand on his chest, she trailed her palm up to where she could feel his heart pumping away. She needed to remind herself of reality, and what game she was playing.

 _Mycroft's lips trailed down her chest and her head fell back, and soon quested further down her body as he dropped kisses on to her stomach, watching in fascination as she quivered at his touch. Tapping her on the hip, he indicated that he needed her to raise her hips. Eagerly she raised her hips so he could slide the flimsy material down her legs, his lips following the path of her shorts down one leg, and then back up the other bared leg before nipping and lying gentle kisses along her inner thighs._

 **I've changed my mind; I'll surprise you instead. – GC**

She slowly edged out of the bed, and stooped to pick up her clothes as her phone vibrated.

 **I love surprises, Neve. X – JM**

 _I know,_ Gwen grimaced at the message and glanced at Mycroft to make sure he was still comfortably asleep.

 _Collapsing on top of her, he used his arm to brace himself to take his weight off of her. Panting slightly, his forehead rested against her shoulder as she hand carded through his hair. Lazily, he began to kiss over her shoulders as she felt his hot breath coming out in heavy rasps, ticking the hair at her neck._

 _Rolling over, he pulled her flush against him, nudging his nose with hers before press a kiss to her lips, drawing back to meet her eyes._

 _"Guinevere," he said, "I-I..."_

 _"It's better than that treadmill of yours."_

She recalled his smile and she winced. She stood, straightening her back and moved to leave the room, pausing when she saw the hand prints on her back. She saw the red rash at the base of her throat, then the love bite on the underside of her right breast as well as finger marks on both sides of her hips. Looking down, she spotted another on the inside of her thigh.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Gwen bowed her. This couldn't happen again. Mycroft wasn't a sentimental man, and she couldn't weaken him by playing him. _This can't happen again._

* * *

Stepping through the door of a desolate café, Gwen smiled when she spotted Jim sitting in the furthest booth, stirring his teeth absently as his eyes trailing over the menu.

Staring at him, she smiled when she took in his suit. Royal blue. Professional and yet, sentimental. Looking around, Jim smiled when he saw Gwen and winked.

Knowing there was no backing out, Gwen approached the table. "James." She breathed as she sunk into the chair opposite him as he smiled wider.

"Took you long enough." Jim commented in amusement, clasping his hands together as he lent over the table. "I was beginning to worry, I don't really like all this public malarkey."

Sighing, Gwen picked up the other menu and smiled at him. "Well, I'm considered to be a high security risk now. I had a bit of subduing to do."

"I hope it was worth it." Jim reached inside his jacket and withdrew a flower. "I brought you a carnation... it's been in there a few days, it might have died." He laughed and smiled sheepishly, handing it to her before looking to the menu again. "I fancy some scrambled eggs, like C-Dog! Mmm... with fire roasted salsa. Avocado and jack cheese..." He licked his lips, meeting her gaze with a grin. "What do you want?"

Gwen narrowed her eyes at the menu, ignoring Jim's torment of him calling her father _C-Dog_. "Eggs Benedict." She told him, noting how mirthful he was. It unsettled her.

"Lovely." He hailed over the waitress and reeled off their orders before turning his attention back to his sister. "So, did they believe it?" He pressed, adding sugar to his tea.

Gwen smiled sadly, pouring herself a glass of water. "It was all too easy. Of course they did. John went to great lengths to express I was like "family" to him." At her words, he laughed, throwing his head back in amusement.

"How quaint." Jim breathed, resting his chin on the back of his hands and pulling a sad face.

"Touching, isn't it?" Gwen agreed with a light smile. "Sherlock also expressed that it wasn't my fault, and that I didn't deserve you." She commented as he reached over to grab her hand.

Jim stared at her, his eyes studying her closely for a moment before he appeared sincere. "That was mean of him, I do look after you, after all." He gripped her hand tightly, "I took care of Curtis when he was mean to you, I love you and Ezra. You are my blood... we're a family." Jim told her earnestly, gripping her hand tighter and tighter as Gwen nodded, feeling her bones pushing against one another. Jim let go. "What about the Ice Man?"

"Mycroft..." Gwen thought for a moment, smiling to herself as she held Jim's gaze. "I know his weakness... he believes me, he thinks I'm working as a double agent for him." Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a memory stick and passed it over. "Found this, by the way... I think he needs to reconsider letting me have free roam of that lovely mansion of his."

Turning it over in his place, Jim frowned. "What is it?"

Waiting until the waitress had returned with their breakfast, Gwen tucked some hand behind her ear before she made to start eating. "A counter-terrorism project with the American government. From my understanding, it's to foil the efforts of terrorists by blowing up an aeroplane." She explained as he stared at her, watching with intrigue.

Jim slowly smiled as he grabbed his cutlery. "Hopefully, after this job I'll know if you're true to your word or not..." He spoke, digging in to his food.

Beginning to eat her own meal, Gwen scoffed. "Are you really so sure I'd go against you? After everything?" She pressed, watching him through her lashes.

"I 'ike ...to be thorough." Jim replied with a mouth full of food, causing several bits of eggs to fly out of his mouth. He laughed when she looked at him disgustedly. "So, how is Myckie these days? He pulled a fast one on you, but then again, you are a fantastic actress." Wiping his mouth, he took a swig of his tea, still chewing as he mixed the contents in his mouth.

"He played into the palm of my hand. He's keeping a close eye on me though, at the moment, I'm more worried about him than his little brother." She confessed which immediately drew Jim's attention at the mere mention of Sherlock. Sherlock's too preoccupied with cases but Mycroft, he has an all-seeing eye.

Running a hand over his face as he thought, Jim sighed. "You need to get back in there, get him to let you move back in. I need you close to him." He instructed, his eyes suddenly turning dark.

Gwen nodded, "I'm trying."

"Try harder!" He exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the table, causing his tea to ripple over the rim of the teacup. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. "At least I know you can still play two sides, Neve. But, if I catch wind that you're working against me, I will make you into shoes. Do you understand me? I am not someone who gets played with, Guinevere." He told her, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his mouth. Throwing the napkin aside, Jim smiled again. "You need to prove yourself to me until I know which side you're on."

"Understood."

Jim shovelled another mouthful of egg into his mouth, giving her a strained smile as he ate. "Good, you... my 'ster af'er all." He chuckled, swallowing the food in his mouth. "Sorry, I'm so hungry I could eat an entire scabby donkey."

" _Half_." Gwen corrected him, unable to help herself as he made out they were full blood relatives. She was thankful they weren't. Being a maternal half-sister to Jim Moriarty was enough.

Jim's eyes narrowed at her immediately, frowning at her words. "As good as whole." Jim reminded her curtly, clenching his jaw as he scratched the stubble there. "I killed your daddy for you, remember that."

Gwen thought for a moment, shuddering at the memory as it played over in her mind. "You ruined the gardens. Mother would have been appalled." She smiled when Jim broke out into a toothless grin, laughing a hollow laugh.

"Good thing she's dead then." He replied with a shrug, running a hand through his hair as his eyes fell upon her food. "Do you want that?"

Shoving the plate over to him, she shook her head. "Be my guest."

Shoving more egg into his mouth, Jim wiped away stray bits with his sleeve. "Anyway, I thought I improved those posh totty gardens. I did water the bushes, you know."

Gwen smiled and remained silent. _With blood, I know._

* * *

 _Four months later..._

Not bothering to knock, she waltzed through the inky door of 221 Baker Street swiftly to ascend the stairs just as a yawning Sherlock emerged from his bedroom, dithering in the hallway. When he saw her, his grip on the sheet he was wearing tightened considerably.

Gwen wolf whistled, smiling in amusement as she blew on the back of Sherlock's neck. He recoiled instantly and all together froze when she pressed a kiss to his cheek in greeting. "Don't you look dashing... it matches your complexion perfectly." Gwen teased as she followed him into the living room. "Very Greek... shall I call you Socrates?"

Sherlock went to speak but Gwen interrupted him, "On second thoughts, I wouldn't want to increase your already overly ambitious ego..." Her eyes fell upon a morbidly obese man sat in John's chair, causing her to frown at his appearance. _No John?_ "Hello?"

Sherlock sighed as he sat down, accepting his tea as Gwen passed it to him. "I'll have you know my bedsheet is particularly attractive." Passing it back to her, he scowled when she took a sip from it. "Why are you here? You don't live here anymore. Did you forget something?" He didn't bother to wait for an answer as a small smile formed on his lips. " _No._ You left, naughty. You broke the rules."

"I needed to breathe." Gwen raised her hands in mock defence as she saw him sent her a look of disbelief. "Don't look at me like that. You know what he's like - Mycroft's like a hawk and I can't handle being coddled all the time." She gave him a pleading look, wanting nothing more than to be freed from the confines of that blasted mansion. "I want to move back in, Curls. Please, let me move back in... why am I _even_ asking? I still pay the bloody rent." Scoffing, she folded her arms over her chest and stared at him through a bitter stare.

Looking back at her, Sherlock frowned. "Has his affections got too much for you? Has he tried- he has hasn't he! I did not see this coming! I can't believe his nerve! How hypocritical of him, to go on about disliking humans..." Sherlock erupted, loosening his hold on his sheet as he swivelled around to look at her properly, taking in the features of her face. "How was it? Was it awful, I bet it was rigid... Didn't need that mental image." He winced when she wacked the side of his head.

" _His nerve?_ Since when was I..." Gwen trailed off, pinching the bridge of her nose to calm herself, not wanting to rise to Sherlock's level pettiness. "Sherlock."

His eyes flickered to her, hoping she wouldn't hit him again. "Mmm."

"Clothes." She nodded to the client in the room as her hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezing as a reminder that they weren't alone.

"What about them?"

Gwen sighed, her hand tightening on his shoulder. "Put some on?" She suggested softly, doubting her words would provoke him to movement.

Sherlock huffed. "Haven't anything clean." He adjusted the bed sheet around his shoulders and squinted at his laptop screen.

"You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?" Came John's disapproving voice as a smile immediately appeared on Gwen's face.

"John," Leaning over Sherlock's shoulder, she smiled at the screen. "Guinea pig again, I see? Anyway, it's not nearly as humiliating as this grey sheet." She slipped it off of Sherlock's shoulder, feigning disgust which roused a laugh from John.

Sherlock glared at her, readjusting the sheet. "It's white!"

Resting her chin on his shoulder, Gwen hummed. "Honestly, Curls."

"Guinevere, be quiet." Sherlock grumbled, shivering at the contact but not rushing to brush her off. "It's okay, I'm fine." He addressed John as Gwen drew up a chair beside him, seeming genuinely intrigued by the case. "Now, show me to the stream."

John sighed, wishing Sherlock would actually listen to him rather than be his usual obnoxious self. "I didn't really mean for you."

Sherlock took another sip of his tea, "Look, this is a six; there's no point in me leaving the flat for anything less than a seven." He summarised in annoyance, tugging his sheet around himself tighter. "We agreed."

"Or showering apparently. You do smell particularly ripe, don't you dear?" Gwen teased, carding a stray hand through his curls as Sherlock swatted her hand away.

Sherlock looked at her in vexation. "Do you mind? Keep your hands to yourself." He bit his lip when Gwen chuckled, and he looked back at the screen again as John was walking down to the stream, pointing the camera towards the grass. "Now, go back. Show me the grass."

John squatted, moving the camera. "When did we agree that?"

"We agreed it yesterday."

Gwen sighed, sipping the tea. "It was probably a one-sided conversation, John." She commented, earning another side glance from Sherlock.

"Stop!" Sherlock leaned closer to the screen, his gaze narrowing as he looked at the mud. "Closer..." He recoiled however, when the laptop swung around to reveal John's face again.

"I wasn't even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin."

Gwen laughed, clamping a hand down on Sherlock's shoulder, jolting him. "See what I mean?"

Ignoring her, Sherlock clenched his jaw before replying. "Well, it's hardly my fault you weren't listening."

Gwen frowned when the doorbell rung as they both looked in the direction of the stairs. "The door?" She asked as Sherlock shrugged at her.

"SHUT UP!" He smiled when he made her laugh again.

John scoffed, ignoring Sherlock's bad habits. "D'you just carry on talking when I'm away?"

"I don't know." Sherlock paused in thought. "How often are you away?"

Gwen sighed, looking at Sherlock like a puppy, batting her lashes at him. " _See?_ This is why I need to move back in... so, you have someone to talk to when John's away." She reasoned with Sherlock, and for a moment, she thought he was going to relent. "I _love_ talking to you, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked back at John. "Now, show me the car that backfired."

Sighing again, John stood up and turned the laptop toward the road where the client's, Phil's, car was sat. "It's there."

"That's the one that made the noise, yes?"

John swung the laptop around again so his face was on the screen. "Yeah, and if you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one." He paused, noting Gwen's frowned. "He wasn't shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer."

"It is a bit... odd." Gwen admitted.

"That's got to be an eight at least." John argued as Sherlock lent back in his chair, tapping his lip in thought.

Another voice crept into earshot, and Gwen assumed it was the detective on the case. "You've got two more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, forget him. He's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"

Carter caught up with John and leaned into the camera. "I think he's a suspect!"

Gwen sucked in a sharp breath, "Oh, you're an amateur." Her words left her mouth before she could stop them, earning her a glare from the detective.

Leaning forward angrily, Sherlock bared his teeth. "Pass me over."

"Pass _us_ over." Gwen corrected to Sherlock's annoyance.

" _Us?_ " He repeated incredulously, rounding in his chair to look at her with a narrowed gaze, staring at her critically. "You don't even live here!"

Gwen gaped at him, "You made me leave if I recall!" She challenged as John winced, wishing they chose another time to argue rather than in front of a detective.

"Ladies, calm down." John breathed out as the laptop dipped in his grasp. "All right, but there's a mute button and I will use it."

"Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here!"

"Okay, just take it." John moved to thrust the laptop into Carter's hand, beyond annoyed. "Just take it."

"Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?!" Sherlock exclaimed, causing Gwen to wince from where she sat next to him

Carter shook his head, "He's trying to be clever. It's over-confidence."

Gwen rolled her eyes, placing her hand on Sherlock's covered forearm. "Detective just listen to him; he's trying to point out the futility of your comments. It wasn't the driver."

Sherlock paused in thought, glancing at Gwen's hand on his arm before sighing in exasperation. " _Did you see him?_ Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy – and you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?" Sherlock demanded before turning around to look at Phil, who was still sat in John's chair. "Don't worry – this is just stupid."

Phil's eyes were wide, obviously having registered everything that had left Sherlock's mouth at such an alarming rate. "What did you say? Heart what?" He asked in anxiousness.

"You possess the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition." Gwen reiterated.

"Go to the stream." Sherlock ordered.

Carter scoffed, "What's in the stream?"

"Go and see."

Hearing the front door bang, Gwen rose to her feet slowly, allowing her hand to fall from Sherlock's arm which he didn't miss, following her gaze. "Sherlock..." She murmured when she saw Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs with two unknown men. Her hand reached for the firearm wedged in the back of her trousers but Sherlock's hand stopped her.

"Sherlock! You weren't answering your doorbell!" Mrs. Hudson announced, barging into the room and stopped shortly when she saw Gwen. "Guinevere!"

Gwen laughed, and welcomed the landlady by smiling brightly, hugging her tightly. "Hello, Hudders." She greeted warmly.

The first man, Plummer, gestured behind him with his thumb. "His room's through the back. Get him some clothes." He ordered, his voice gruff.

His brow furrowing, Sherlock stared at the man stood behind him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes. You're coming with us." Plummer explained as he reached forward to close the lid of the laptop as John's voice rang out worriedly.

Gwen sighed, "How is Myckie?" she asked, shoving her hands into her pockets, sending Sherlock a knowingly look, gesturing to the suit for him to make his deductions.

Plummer frowned as he looked at her. "Miss. Chevalier you shouldn't be here."

Gwen smiled sheepishly, "I got bored... it's very boring in that house of his. So many books, so much time to read them all... all alone. _Boring_."

Giving a deep sigh, Plummer glanced away from her to address Sherlock again, who still hadn't moved. "Please, Mr. Holmes." He emphasised, shifting on his feet under Gwen's gaze. "Where you're going, you'll want to be dressed."

Scoffing, Gwen sent Sherlock a grin. "Nonsense, he's Socrates, aren't you dear?"

"Oh, I know exactly where I'm going..." Sherlock shrugged, smirking widely. "Anyway, I'd prefer Plato."

"Of course you would." Gwen agreed with a chuckle.

* * *

Sighing to herself, Gwen laughed in amusement as she wandered around the room in wonder. "I don't want to alarm you..." She paused as her eyes finally settled on Sherlock who was watching her with a smile. She returned it. "But you are currently sat in Buckingham Palace... wearing a grey- "

"White." Sherlock interjected.

Gwen, nonetheless, continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. Her smile widened. "Bedsheet, minus clothes. Minus underwear as well I would assume by how tightly you're clenching your fists around that _white_ sheet." Running a hand along her lips in thought, she sighed and gave a shake of her head. "Serves you right, wouldn't you say, Socrates?"

"You'd be correct, Gwen." Sherlock gave a curt nod which made the curls on his head bounce. His demeanour shifted suddenly, his eyes narrowed at he took in her appearance properly. There were evident dark circles under her eyes and she looked ghostly. He'd asked Mycroft to look after her, not to turn her into the shell of someone he once knew. "How are you?"

Gwen smiled at the question. "I'm fine. I am, Sherlock." She knew the words would do little to put his mind at ease. He arched a brow at her, making her smile more widely. " _Honestly_." She emphasised softly as he tilted his head at her.

Sherlock sighed, watching as she moved toward him. "Then, why do you look so frightened?" He didn't expect her to answer him or to tell him the truth, but any answer, she knew he would be able to decipher.

Perching on the edge of the table in front of him, Gwen stared at Sherlock. "It's Jim Moriarty, Sherlock. He's my half-brother, of course I'm frightened." She rubbed a hand across her face as her hands fell across his knee. "You don't know him like I do; I've got to be so careful now..."

As Sherlock moved forward, John strode into the room, watching as Sherlock reached for Gwen's hands. John's eyes widened as Sherlock was attempting to initiate contact with her.

He wanted to touch her. The thought came spontaneously to him in that moment, as he watched Sherlock and Gwen engrossed in a heated discussion. Sherlock Holmes wanted Guinevere Chevalier, and with her being gone, things didn't bode well.

It wasn't exactly obvious to anyone who looked at them except to those who paid close attention, who observed them. And, John had surprised himself, he had noticed it almost immediately. He'd observed.

John smiled slightly. When he took the time to look properly, it was so obvious that Sherlock Holmes fancied Guinevere Chevalier.

The way Sherlock looked at Gwen, and the way he would always find a way to touch her – ironic coming from someone who recoiled at human contact – and yet there he was, tucking her hair behind her ear with his hand as they spoke in hushed tones.

 _John stared in amazement as Sherlock rose from his work and moved towards the door, opening his arms out to the woman. Gwen, immediately, stepped into his arms and wrapped her own around him tightly as Sherlock rested his chin atop her head. "Soon," he'd heard him murmur as she hummed, nodding._

 _"Good," Pulling away, she smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder before sighing. "I.. I don't know when my next will be." Gwen admitted, sending an apologetic look John's way as he smiled at her. "See you late, and don't get into trouble!" She called as she made her way down the stairs._

 _Once she was out of earshot, John cleared his throat. "Anything odd? Anything different?" He asked, turning to Sherlock with a small smile._

 _"She's with Moriarty often." Sherlock replied as he settled into his chair. "He brings her flowers."_

 _"But... h- how can you possibly know that?" John blurted accusingly, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock._

 _"There was a rose in her pocket." Kneeling down, Sherlock's fingers seized a stray petal belonging to a carnation on the floor. "See?" He passed it to John. "Flower power, John."_

 _John stared for a moment, frowning again. "He manipulates her through giving her flowers?"_

 _"He murdered her father in the_ _Gardens of the château de Versailles."_

 _"What about him then? What about her brother?" John quizzed, puzzled._

 _Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Half brother, John. They have the same mother, different fathers. Mother had an affair with Curtis Chevalier. Chevalier had the mother killed, and Moriarty killed Chevalier for some reason." Sherlock explained tersely, running his hands through his hair as he rose to walk over to the window. He spotted her crossing the street, talking on her phone. "He's keeping her busy... You know that assassination in Brussels last week?"_

 _John's eyes widened in realisation. Composing himself, John let out a shaky breath. "She's in trouble, Sherlock. It's getting worse, even I can see that." He told him, pleading almost. He wanted to trusted her, but knowing the things she'd done, it only made it more difficult._

 _"Mycroft's blind to it. I thought having her stay with him might do her some good... I know she's in trouble John." Sherlock sighed in defeat, running a hand over his lips in thought. "Have you seen her face lately? The increased redness around her eyes and the dark circles – Mycroft doesn't even know about the nightmares. How would he when she covers it up with make-up?" Sherlock snapped, beginning to pace in thought. Scoffing, Sherlock bristled. "A_ _nd he says he's the smart one? She still doesn't enjoy her job, she wants to see Ezra. Moriarty won't let her-"_

 _Running hand through his short hair, John sighed and turned to Sherlock, cutting him off. "Who is Ezra?"_

 _Sherlock shrugged, "No idea."_

 _John watched him for a moment. "She hasn't told you then? Does Mycroft know?"_

 _"Possibly." Mycroft undoubtedly knew who Ezra was. Clearing his throat, Sherlock clenched and unclenched his jaw. "Anyway, she's not sleeping. She's increased the dose of pills she takes..."_

 _John gaped, shocked by the deduction. "I didn't even know..."_

 _Sherlock rolled his eyes and sent John a pointed look, feigning shock. "Of course you didn't."_

Clearing his throat, John held out his hands in disbelief as they both turned to look at him, a smile pulling at Gwen's lips. Wandering into the room, John made his way over to where they were, glancing around in shock before sitting down on the sofa beside Sherlock.

John smiled in amusement as he peered over at Sherlock, his gaze lowered momentarily before he turned his head away again. "Are you wearing any pants?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"No." Sherlock snorted.

John nodded, "Okay."

John looked over at Sherlock who was watching Gwen – the three of them shared a glance at one another before they all burst out laughing. "At Buckingham Palace, fine." He chuckled, soon trying to regain some control over himself by clearing his throat. "Oh, I'm seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray... what are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously?"

Sherlock smirked. "I don't know."

"Isn't this fun?" Gwen asked, flashing a grin at the pair of them. "The three of us back together again." Rising to her feet, she plonked herself down between them both, smiling widely as she squeezed their nearest knee. Sherlock flinched, making her laugh. "Sorry, Socrates."

John's brow dipped in confusion. "Socrates?" He repeated, smiling slightly.

"Toga." Gwen nodded to Sherlock's attire.

"Enough with the nicknames, Gwen." Sherlock scolded her.

"Oh, they're _pet_ names, Sherlock." John corrected, making Gwen snort as Sherlock's eyes widened. Glancing around the room again, John sighed. "Here to see the Queen?"

At his words, Mycroft rounded a corner and strode into the room. "Oh, apparently yes." Sherlock agreed as John cracked up again with Sherlock promptly joining in.

Gwen, however, fell silent in her seat as he came to stand before them. "Life without women would be a pain in the arse, _literally_." She murmured but the men beside her erupted with laughter at her joke, causing Mycroft to frown even further. "You should've worn the blue tie, dear, it practically breathes duty."

Gritted his teeth, Mycroft's gaze feel upon Gwen as he clenched his fists. "Just once, can you three behave like grown-ups?" He hissed lowly, his eyes shining dangerously as he regarded the three of them.

Clasping his hands together in front of him neatly, John sighed. "We solve crimes; I blog about it, he forgets his pants and she likes guns, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope." John explained as they all sobered up, falling serious.

Sherlock looked at his brother, immediately noting how Mycroft's gaze lingered on the woman sat beside him, who hand was still sat on his knee, probably to annoy his brother he gathered. "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft." He reminded, his voice low and dripping with irritation.

"What, the hiker and the backfire?" Mycroft asked as he finally tore his eyes away from Gwen to look at his brother. "I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?"

"Transparent." Sherlock replied.

"Time to move on, then." Mycroft bent down to pick up the clothes from the table, turning to offer them to Sherlock who gazed at them uninterestedly. Mycroft sighed. "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation." He took in a deep breath, straightening himself. "Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."

"Or red, red does always look good on you..." Gwen teased, casting her eyes at Mycroft before glancing around the room. "Anyway, this has nothing on the Les Invalides." She argued, allowing her French accent to make an appearance – the first time any of the men in the room had ever heard it. "It's interior is very _outdated_ and overly yellow. I don't particularly like yellow." Gwen blanched as she met Mycroft's gaze, "Yellow isn't a colour I associate with happiness."

Sherlock laughed at the expression Mycroft wore, more so because the tie he wore was, in fact, yellow. "What for?" He asked his brother, looking to Gwen who had folded her arms.

"Your client."

Frowning, Sherlock rose to his feet and allowed his eyes to narrow once more. "And my client is?"

"Illustrious..." A new voice sounded as another man walked into the room. "... In the extreme." John, like Sherlock, rose to his feet whilst Gwen remained seated, rolling her eyes. "And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous." The man's eyes flickered over to Mycroft. "Mycroft!"

"Another yellow tie, bloody disgusting." Gwen muttered lowly, making Sherlock chuckle whilst Mycroft sent her a warning glance. "Hi, Harry!" She falsely smiled, waving briefly as she peered around John.

"Harry." Mycroft smiled at him, walking over to shake his hand in greeting. "May I just apologise for the state of my little brother? And for the rudeness of our mutual... _friend_?"

"Full-time occupation, I imagine." Harry commented as Sherlock scowled before Harry turned to John. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." He smiled as they shook hands.

"Hello, yes."

Harry smiled softly at John, "My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

John's eyes widened in slight surprise. "Your employer?" He questioned, not sure if he'd heard correctly.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch." Harry explained briefly as John felt a surge of pride shoot through his chest.

"Thank you!" John smiled widely as he looked around to send Sherlock a look, clearing his throat smugly.

Moving past John, Harry smiled more widely when he looked down at Gwen from where she sat. "Bonjour." He greeted in amusement, holding out his hand for her to shake which she merely stared at, making no movement to return the gesture.

Gwen gave Mycroft a pointed stare. "Ça me fait chier..." She murmured, running a hand through her hair to her annoyance. Gwen looked up at Harry, tilting her head lightly in question. "Why do people assume that because I'm _half_ French that I _want_ to engage in a discussion in that language? It's so tiresome." She crossed her legs and looked at Harry in her boredom. She didn't particularly like the man, he was a snob but he wasn't cruel either. "I'm half Irish too, but I won't start blurting out profanities like a leprechaun." Rolling her eyes, she stood and took his offered hand.

Sherlock smiled softly at Gwen's reply until he met his brother's gaze. He leaned towards her ear, "You're getting under his skin." He commented low enough so only she would hear.

Gwen smiled at Sherlock, watching him closely. "I'll be under yours soon." She flashed another smile and budged him in the ribs before looking back at Harry.

"Gwendoline- "

Interrupting him, Gwen frowned deeply. " _No, no, no_. It's Guinevere, actually." She corrected, clicking her tongue irritably. "Gwen's fine if you can manage that... They all begin with G, so I understand that it can get a bit confusing." She informed curtly, ignoring the glower Mycroft was sending her way with all the mental composure she could manage.

Harry frowned. "I do recall you were less hostile the last time we met."

Gwen shrugged, settling back down into the chair, leaning back casually. "Times change. People change... sorry."

Eyeing her curiously, Harry stared a moment longer before shifting his attention to Sherlock. "And Mr. Holmes the younger." He held out his hand to Sherlock who stared at it as Gwen had done. "You look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and having short friends." He looked to John momentarily as Gwen kicked his shin with the top of her shoe, jolting him forward with enough force to make him almost lose his grip on the sheet. "A short friend and an _amant_."

"Oh, I'm climbing the ranks." Gwen laughed as John looked at her, bewildered.

Looking at Gwen, he smiled and abruptly walked past John to approach Mycroft. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases... both ends is too much work." He looked around at Harry and gave him a curt nod. "Good morning." With that, he started to walk away until Mycroft deliberately stepped onto the trailing edge of the sheet.

Sherlock, however, continued forward as the sheet slithered from his body. Immediately, he stopped and grabbed at it before his nakedness was made public. Furious, he tried to tug it back around himself.

Making a disappointed noise, Gwen inclined her head in Sherlock's direction. "Oh, Socrates, you ruined my fun. I was hoping to complete the set." She couldn't help herself as Mycroft's eyes rounded on her again.

John frowned, "Complete the set?"

Smiling, Gwen went to reply but Mycroft cut her off. "Guinevere!" His voice cut through the room, making her study him for a moment as a frown descended her face. Mycroft straightened himself and looked back at Sherlock. "This is a matter of national importance. Grow up."

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth.

Mycroft scoffed, "Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

Smiling, Mycroft straightened up. "I'll let you." He wandered as Gwen laughed.

Propping her hand under her chin, Gwen's smile widened. "This is getting entertaining."

"Quiet, Miss. Chevalier." Mycroft chided, not bothering to look at her as he did.

John, seeing Gwen rise to her feet beside him, panicked and pushed her behind him to keep her from getting involved. "Boys, please. Not here." John pleaded, knowing that his say would do little to interfere with the rivalry between Sherlock and Mycroft. "There is a lady present." He added as Mycroft looked to Gwen.

Gwen shrugged. "I'm not complaining."

" _Who. Is. My. Client?_ " Sherlock bit out, practically incandescent with rage.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for _God's sake_ ..." He paused momentarily as he glanced back at Harry, attempting to regain control of his anger before looking back at Sherlock. "Put your clothes on!" He let out exasperatedly.

When he returned fully clothed, Sherlock sunk into his seat beside Gwen and stared as his brother began to pour tea for the five of them. Mycroft looked to Harry, and smiled. "I'll be mother."

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock breathed pointedly as Mycroft glowered at him, setting the teapot down firmly.

Looking between the brothers, Harry sighed. "My employer has a problem."

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen."

Sherlock grimaced. "Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?" Sherlock sighed and gestured to Gwen, sending his brother a look of disapproval. "Why did you have to involve Gwen?"

"Miss Chevalier- "

"Gwen." Sherlock corrected, noticing how Gwen visibly relaxed at the use of Gwen unlike when Mycroft insisted on calling her _Chevalier_ or _Guinevere_. Looking at Gwen, he smiled when he saw the faint traces of a smile ghosting her lip. Leaning back, he laid his arms across the back of the sofa and sent Mycroft a pointed stare.

Mycroft glowered at Sherlock for testing what little patience he had left. Mycroft didn't miss the reaction the different names had on Gwen; he just preferred to be more professional around her after their last _serious_ encounter.

"How about we get back to the matter at hand, yes?" Gwen reminded, twisting the ring on her right hand absently.

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked, more than happy to step around the brotherly dispute.

"Not, to date, anyone with a Navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust." Mycroft interjected, sending a pointed look at John.

John frowned at him, "You don't trust your own Secret Service?" Despite it, he didn't seem surprised as it was Mycroft he was talking to.

"Naturally not." Mycroft's gaze fell upon Gwen, who was staring at him and he managed a strained smile. "They all spy on people for money."

"It's good pay." Gwen supplied with a nod.

Sherlock piped up at his brother's words and frowned at him. "And yet, you've asked one to join us today." Mycroft stared at him in disapproval as he rested a hand on Gwen's shoulder. "She's still carrying by the way, even though she was searched upon arrival, terribly naughty, Gwen dear." Sherlock flashed her smile in which Gwen rolled her eyes.

"You wouldn't understand, brother mine." Mycroft replied coolly.

"I do think we have a timetable." Harry's voice broke the silence, though his eyes were unwavering as he stared at Gwen, trying to pin point where she concealed her firearm.

"Yes, of course. Um..." Mycroft reached forward and opened his briefcase, withdrawing a glossy photograph and handed it to Sherlock as Gwen lent over his shoulder. "What do you know about this woman?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

"Then you should be paying more attention." Mycroft replied in an annoyed tone. "She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?" Sherlock persisted, glancing at the photograph again.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen let out a soft breath. "Irene Adler," She announced, causing all the men in the room to look at her expectedly. "Professionally known as "The Woman"."

Setting his teacup down, John cleared his throat. " _Professionally?_ "

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix'." Mycroft explained as Gwen bit back a smile, finding the entire predicament rather amusing seeing as they were currently in Buckingham Palace, subtly discussing sex.

" _Dominatrix_." Sherlock repeated thoughtfully.

"Don't be alarmed." Mycroft sighed, giving Sherlock a look. "It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me." Sherlock snapped as Mycroft sent him a snide smile.

Sighing, Gwen lent toward Sherlock's ear. "Ignore him, he's permanently sulking because he got played a woman." She told him in a whisper as he chuckled, smirking slightly when Mycroft's face fell.

Bristling at the pair of them, Mycroft bit the inside of his cheek. "How would you know?" He challenged, making Sherlock look at him.

Feeling Sherlock tense, Gwen squeezed his forearm to reign him in silently. "Can we not have this conversation here? You can compare libidos later on." Gwen informed the pair of them, smiling when the pair of them shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the lowered tone of her voice. "Now, behave."

Clearing his throat, Mycroft tried to hide his embarrassment. "She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. " He reached into his suitcase again to withdrew more photographs to hand them to Sherlock who began to look through them casually. "These are all from her website."

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs."

"You're very quick, Mr. Holmes." Harry remarked lightly.

"Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

"A person of significance to my employer." Harry straightened in his seat, clasping his hands together atop his knee. "We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

Dropping the photographs on the table, Sherlock glared at him and fell silent. "You can't tell us anything?" John asked, sensing Sherlock's anger.

"I cant tell you it's a young person," All three of them watched Mycroft as he spoke, waiting for him to elaborate. Sighing, he closed his eyes and ignored the look Harry was giving him. "A young female person."

Sherlock smirked, "How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock questioned, watching Mycroft closely.

Mycroft gave a slight nod. "Yes, they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios."

Mycroft sighed, grimacing. "An imaginative range, we are assured."

Sherlock sighed, knowing that John's teacup was still half raised in shock. "John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now." Sherlock spoke as John quickly did so.

From where she sat, Gwen blinked. "Consultation sur les activités nocturnes d'une maîtresse. Comment charmant..." She spoke, annoyed and recoiled at the knowledge that she would mostly have to intervene.

Sherlock smiled slightly, "Who's to say it's all nocturnal?"

"I was being polite." Gwen chided.

"Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?" Harry inquired.

Sherlock countered: "How?"

"Will you take the case?"

"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, "Know when you are beaten"." Sherlock turned to reach for his coat but Gwen prevented his movements.

"I'm guessing she doesn't want anything," She sighed as Mycroft's eyes fell upon her. "I assuming she got in touch to tell that these photographs existed, indicating that she had no desire to use them to extort money or favour." Harry nodded numbly at Gwen, a small smile pulling at his lips at her evident understanding.

Sherlock smiled slowly in realisation. "Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix... ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?" He practically grinned as he thought about the case.

"Sherlock..." John's warning fell on deaf ears.

"Hmm." He turned around to reach for his coat again. "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London currently. She's staying..."

Interrupting Mycroft, Sherlock took his coat into his hand and started to walk away. "Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day." He called over his shoulder as the other climbed to their feet.

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked, causing Sherlock to pause and look back at him.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs." Sherlock smirked, his bravado radiating off of him, living up to his reputation as being overly arrogant.

"Control your bravado, Curls." Gwen reprimanded him, frowning slightly. "No one like a boaster."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think." Harry commented, keeping Gwen's words in mind.

Looking over Harry quickly, Sherlock deduced his appearance, and Gwen rolled her eyes. Once he was done, he looked to Mycroft. "I'll need some equipment, of course."

"Anything you require. I'll have it sent to..."

Sherlock interrupted Mycroft yet again, turning his attention back to Harry. "Can I have a box of matches?" He asked as Harry look at him, confused, eyeing the hand Sherlock held out expectantly. "Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do."

Harry laughed, embarrassed. "I don't smoke."

"No, I know you don't, but your employer does."

Gwen bit back a smile when Harry reached into his pocket to withdraw a lighter, handing it to Sherlock as John watched, frowning.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes." Harry informed him curtly, frowning in annoyance.

"I'm not the Commonwealth." Sherlock replied, moving to stride out of the room.

"And that's as modest as he gets." John spoke, starting forward as Sherlock turned away again. "Pleasure to meet you." He followed after Sherlock as Gwen waited.

"Laters!"

Pausing, John looked back over his shoulder. "Uh, Gwen... aren't you coming?" He gestured for her to follow him and Sherlock.

"Guinevere will remain, Doctor Watson." Mycroft informed John, waving him away as he turned to look at Gwen as she lounged on the sofa.

"John, if he asks you to punch him in the face..." She looked over at the Doctor, and smiled brilliantly. "Try not to cut yourself on his cheekbones."

Returning to the sofa, Harry resumed his seat beside Mycroft. "We have further matters to discuss, Miss Chevalier."

"Guinevere." Mycroft muttered, correcting Harry as Gwen smiled softly.

"We don't need to discuss anything, Harry." Gwen replied tersely, crossing her legs as she regarded him for a moment. "I get it. I'm the cavalry. I'm the person who's going to take care of things if, and when, they go sour." She explained plainly as her phone began to ring through the room, drawing her immediate attention. "Excuse me, it's my brother... Jim."

Mycroft paled at the name as Harry glanced at him. "Jim Moriarty." He murmured low enough for the other man to hear.

" _Where are you, sis?_ " Jim asked from the other end, his voice sickeningly sweet.

"Having tea with the Queen..." Gwen replied, her eyes falling on Mycroft as she paused, wondering why he had risked phoning her. "What is it?"

" _I've got a client_."

Frowning, Gwen couldn't deny the intrigue that had been roused within her at his words. He always knew how to hold her attention, despite her fury. "Who is it?"

The excitement never left Jim's voice as he spoke, practically seeping with jubilant glee. " _She's a right catch this one, a real dominatrix. It's more of a security detail..._ " He paused momentarily, his voice gaining some mirth as Gwen listened. " _She has something I need, and she's in a very tight spot with the Americans_."

Running a hand over her face, Gwen let out a low sigh of annoyance. Clenching her jaw, she cleared her throat knowingly. "Her name wouldn't happen to be Irene Adler, would it?"

Laughter echoed from the other end, as Jim erupted into a fit of chuckles. " _Oh, you had to spoil the fun!_ " He demanded playfully, his voice light and jovial which unsettled her.

"Always, dear." Gwen's gaze narrowed at nothing as she contemplated her new, very specific orders. "Text me the address, and I'll handle it."

Jim hummed in her ear. " _I don't doubt you, Neve. Cheers, sis._ "

Pulling the phone away from her ear, she rubbed her forehead tiredly. "It seems you two have similar ideologies..." She grumbled as Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. "Protect Irene Adler from people who want her dead. As you can tell, I'm absolutely thrilled to be wasting my time on a dominatrix."

Clearing his throat to lead Harry away from the topic of Jim Moriarty, Mycroft shifted Gwen's attention back to him. "As we were saying, a second party are interested in something in the possession of Miss Adler." He explained simply, smiling at her as she watched him. "Ensure they do not get it. Minimal casualties, please." He warned, knowing she had a tendency to not stick to the plan and become slightly unhinged.

Gwen nodded, "Not guaranteed." Sighing, she stood up and clasped her hands together. "If that's all gentlemen, I really must go... I've got to do something for my charming brother. He's a very impatient man." Once she was finished as Mycroft rose to escort her out. "It was lovely to meet you again, Harry. I'm sure- "

"Guinevere, how did you know that it was Miss Adler in the photographs?" Harry interrupted, raising an eyebrow at her as she frowned at him, wondering if he was really as dim as he sounded.

Sighing, Gwen paused in her movements to look at Harry. He was a snob. "When you're in my line of work, Harry, you end up having connections in every corner of anywhere." That was all there was to it, it wasn't as difficult as it seemed to be. A person can work up a reputation over the years that can come in handy in the years to come.

Mycroft extended his hand to Harry, shaking his hand firmly. "I hope my brother can be of some use to you, Harry."

Harry turned to Gwen to shake her hand, but she recoiled and shook her head. "Do you know how many germs are passed between hand to hand through one, single handshake?" She questioned, tilting her head. "It's not worth the risk."

Mycroft gave an apologetic smile as he began to lead Gwen away, his hand positioned on the small of her back. Mycroft was silent the entire way, only humming for her to turn when necessary. It unnerved her to see him so composed and quiet.

"You can't give me a lift." Gwen commented when the black car came into view, frowning at Mycroft's attempts to get her to comply. "I've got to do something for my dearest brother."

Still Mycroft remained silent.

It wasn't until they were completely out of earshot and away from prying eyes, that he finally spoke. Roughly shoving her against a wall, he trapped her between his arms and glowered. "What were you thinking?" He let out in a hiss, his eyes shining dangerously. Mycroft's temperament had finally snapped. "You were invited, along with my brother, to consult on a very private matter concerning the most powerful family in Britain. What the hell were you thinking arming yourself!" He practically growled, his face inching closer to hers.

"They didn't check properly... they always stop looking after three. Three is the magic number." Gwen commented quietly, ducking her head. When he stared at her, she sighed and pushed at his chest. "It's my profession, Mycroft. It's what I do." Inhaling deeply, Gwen attempted to calm herself, breathing deeply. "You're only behaving like this because you're jealous... and you're upset."

Scoffing, Mycroft stepped away from her. "Don't be absurd... where is it?" He demanded, watching her for moment before reaching around behind her to grab at the back of her trousers to retrieve the gun.

Dropping her hand, she lowered it at his crouch and sighed, "Don't be stupid, Myc." She whispered as her other hand came up to clasp his tie. She yanked it, pulling him towards her and she spun them, forcing Mycroft into the wall as her other wrist came up and knocked the gun from his hand so it clattered on the floor. "Don't do that again. I don't like being man-handled... unless I give permission."

"What are you going to do?" Mycroft let out.

Smiling at him, Gwen sighed and moved to straighten his tie. "In future, don't wear yellow. It doesn't suit you." Pushing off of him, Gwen shoved the firearm back into the back of her trousers and began to walk off. "Keep an eye out, dear!"

Starting forward, Mycroft stared after her, gulping slightly. "You can't... Guinevere!" He shouted, clenching his fists. " _Miss Chevalier_ , I haven't finished speaking to you!"

"I'm not your goldfish, Myc."

* * *

 **French translations:**

 **Ça me fait chier - _That pisses me off_**

 **Amant - _Paramour, lover_**

 **Consultation sur les activités nocturnes d'une maîtresse. Comment charmant - _Consultation on the nocturnal activities of a mistress. How charming._**

 **A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far - I'm glad those who've reviewed are enjoying the story. Thank you.**

 **Ezeiel**


	9. Chapter 9

To hotwire a mode of transport in London wasn't _that_ difficult. To keep a low profile was, however, becoming increasing more difficult by the day.

Keep Irene Adler alive. Keep Jim Moriarty happy. Keep Mycroft Holmes at bay. Keep Sherlock Holmes guessing. Keep John Watson out of harm's way. Keep Ezra safe. So many things to remember.

She'd heard the five gunshots when they'd rung out. Turning into the street, she rolled her eyes when she caught sight of her favourite detective sweeping back into one of the houses. Pulling over at the far end, she turned off the engine and wanted the events to escalate. She wasn't going to intervene for no reason.

Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, Gwen could do nothing but wait for any sign of movement before the cavalry arrived.

After ten minutes of waiting, her attention was drawn to an alleyway down the side of the house. Starting the car, Gwen began to drive down the road, glancing between the houses for any sign of movement. She admitted she was close to giving up when someone wearing a long coat peered out from around the side of a house, glancing both way down the street.

Pushing her foot down, she gained momentum as she sped down the street, screeching to a halt as the woman jumped back. Leaning upon, with a single movement she thrust open the passenger's door. "Get in."

The woman, who had been running the opposite way, turned around and stared at her. Grinning, she jogged up to the car as she studied the woman behind the wheel. Slipping into the car, the woman eyed the one next to her, "Who are you?"

Speeding down the street, Gwen spun the wheel as the car propelled down the street. "Jim Moriarty sends his love." Gwen told her as she put her foot down on the pedal, changing gears to gain more speed.

"Who are you?" The woman asked again, slightly out of breath as she looked back over at Gwen.

Gwen glanced sideward at Irene, realising that the coat she wore belonged to Sherlock. She'd seen it enough times to know that. "The coat suits him better."

"I happen to think I wear it quiet well." Settling into her seat, Irene smirked before she drew up the gun she held so it rested against Gwen's head. "I won't ask again." She warned.

Laughing, Gwen smacked the gun away. "Unwise. I'd let you have a good go though... however, it is my job to kill people. I'd wager I'd shoot first." She informed Irene amusedly, gesturing to the gun sat near the gear stick. The other woman settled back into her seat, leaning away from her to look her over. "I'm to drop you off at a safe house as I understand, where you will meet with my brother."

"So, you're the other Moriarty."

Scoffing, Gwen shook her head at the assumption. "Unfortunately, no. There is only one Moriarty. I'm the half-sister..." Pulling into a car park, Gwen sighed as she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, ignoring it she pulled into a parking space. "The French connection."

"You stole this car, didn't you?" Irene asked, taking in the tall skyscraper from her window.

"Why pay when you can take?" Gwen smiled as she turned off the engine, climbing out of the car swiftly. "Get out of the car, Irene." She ordered, rounding the car to wait for Irene to get out and do as she said. "I don't have to be this nice, you know."

Rolling her eyes, Irene pulled the coat around herself tightly as she stepped out, shuddering from the slight breeze. As she stepped out, the coat slipped, revealing a long pane of flesh.

"You're _only_ wearing the coat, aren't you?" Gwen rolled her eyes, staring at her. "There are most likely some clothes somewhere for you to change into... maybe if you bat your eyes, you might get some."

Irene smiled at Gwen, "You wouldn't deprive a girl, would you?"

"I don't swing that way." Gwen retorted irritably. She could pull triggers and all that jazz, but protecting people... that wasn't her forte. "Come on."

Once Gwen had ushered Irene into the apartment, she waited until the woman had disappeared into the bedroom, before she pulled out her phone. Noticing this, Irene let the coat slip to the floor before disappearing. "Jim," She breathed when he picked up on the first ring. Her patience with _The Woman_ was barely existent. "What am I supposed to do with her now?"

Sighing on the other end, Jim took his time to reply. " _Is Sebastian there yet?_ "

Looking behind herself, she tilted her head in wonder when the door opened to reveal her associate, a small smile playing on his lips as he placed the second key-card on the mantelpiece. "Yes..."

" _Then go._ " Jim's order startled her. She didn't expect him to dismiss her so plainly, or to let her go so willingly. " _Go back to Baker Street._ " He added when he was met with only silence.

Confused, Gwen struggled to find her words. "What?" She breathed out.

" _Have Sebastian stay with her_." Jim told her softly, humming. " _I told you what I need; I want you in the earshot of the Virgin and the Ice Man_." Jim paused again, settling Gwen more than she was already. " _You did well today, Neve. I'm proud of you._ "

"Did you just compliment me?" Gwen laughed, pulling on her jacket again.

Jim scoffed on the other end, " _I always compliment you. I bring you flowers. You_ love _flowers_."

"I have hay-fever, Jim."

Jim laughed at the statement, " _I know, but it's funny when you sneeze_." His reply made her laugh. Of course he would find enjoyment in the misfortunes of others. " _Catch you later, sis._ " Then he was gone.

When Irene returned dressed more appropriately, Gwen smiled momentarily. "Right, I've... uh, I've got to go." She told the woman out of courtesy, fastening her jacket as her gaze flickered to Sebastian as the man lingered near the windows.

Irene frowned, "Where are you going?"

Gwen watched her for a moment, evaluating the woman that stood before her. She decided not to answer her question and gestured to Sebastian instead. "Sebastian here will keep you company until Jim arrives." She didn't like games very much.

Having to keep a woman alive was strenuous enough, but having to comply with two sides in regards to keeping said woman alive was barely insatiable. Countless wanted her dead, and no matter what, Gwen would have to dodge all those people to prolong the life of Irene Adler.

"Well," Irene strode forward and reached for the coat she had discarded on the floor before entering the bedroom. Passing it to Gwen, she inhaled the scent briefly. "Please return this to him for me, tell me I was very grateful for the loan... What?" She asked when she saw Gwen looking at her in an odd way.

"Just wondering... what makes you so special to Jim and Mycroft?"

Irene smirked, and reached into the pocket of her skirt, withdrawing a phone and wiggling it at her in a taunting manner. "This camera phone is my life."

Gwen's eyes narrowed. _I hope she dies..._ "Good for you." Folding the coat under her arm, Gwen gave a slight inclination of her head. "Make sure she stays here." She told Sebastian, moving past him to approach the door to leave.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Gwen gritted her teeth. "Piss off."

Giving her a mock salute, Sebastian smirked and brushed his jacket aside to reveal his firearm sat in its holster. "Je suis à votre disposition, Votre Altesse Royale."

Gwen smiled at him. "Better." Stepping through the door, Gwen cringed when she heard Irene asking Sebastian what his _kink_ was.

She had barely made it back to the car park when her phone was ringing again. Fumbling around in her pocket, she pulled it open and froze when she saw John's name flashing across the screen. Something was wrong. "John?" She asked, approached the car, throwing the coat into the passengers seat before starting up the car.

" _Gwen!_ " She winced when a slurred shout met her ear, making her cringe at how compromised his seemed. It sounded like... Sherlock? _That blasted woman._

" _Gwen... oh, god..._ " John breathed out as Gwen frowned.

"John? What's wrong..." She paused for a moment, replaying his voice over in her head as she put her foot down on the pedal. "Why's your voice all shrill?"

" _It's Sherlock._ "

The mere mention of the detective caught her off guard for a moment. So, it was Sherlock. Had Irene... _Irene had undoubtedly done something_. "What's wrong with him?" Gwen demanded, allowing the car to gain momentum as she sped down the road, her worry getting the better of her. "Listen, are you all right?"

John was struggling on the other end, which Sherlock most likely. She smiled in relief when she heard Greg's voice as well. At least he wasn't alone. " _He's been... bloody hell! Greg, help me!_ " John shouted suddenly, making Gwen jolt at the sudden change in volume. " _He's been drugged. Irene Adler drugged him._ "

Gwen automatically felt her grip tighten on the wheel.

Sherlock's slurred tones drifted into her ears then, making his drugged state all the more evident. " _You're talking to Gw- Gwen!_ "

"Hello, Curls," She briefly acknowledged the detective as she turned sharply, racing down another road. "Right, where are you?"

" _On our way home._ " John told her quickly before groaning.

Gwen sighed, pushing her foot down with more force, hoping that there wouldn't be any trouble along the way. "I'll meet you there." She managed, turning sharply once again, causing the tyres to screech from the sheer impact. "John?" The doctor hummed in acknowledgement on the other end. "Don't worry."

The line went dead, and when she caught the reflection of the Police lights in her mirror, her breath caught in her throat.

* * *

"What an absolute idiot," Greg Lestrade choked out between breaths, "Complete... bloody... idiot!" Giving up, he sunk to his knees, howling with laughter whilst John huffed.

"Yes, go on..." John grumbled, "Laugh about it all you want, but you need to help me get him home."

"All right, John." Greg managed, sobering up until he locked eyes on Sherlock's drugged state before bursting into laughter again. "Oh, I've got to video this... for evidence." Greg withdrew his phone, prepared to record everything to use as ammunition.

The pair of them, somehow, managed to drag the semi-conscious Sherlock out of the house before facing the next obstacle of getting him into the police car unscathed.

"You're trying to tell..." Greg chuckled as he helped John get Sherlock into the car. "So, t- this woman... are you seriously telling me that she took off her clothes... so she could flirt with _Sherlock Holmes_?" That was all it took, and Greg was laughing again, while John stared in disbelief. "This is brilliant!"

"No," John breathed in exasperation. "It's anything but that, today has been a day I won't forget anytime soon."

"What'd you mean by that?" A few moments later, and Greg was laughing again. "He did _what_ at Buckingham Palace?" Lestrade grunted as he and John wrestled a semi-conscious Sherlock into the waiting car.

"He sat there, naked, wrapped in a sheet." John told him as a small smile played on his lips as h recalled that morning's antics. "He did it to anger Mycroft, though, I was surprised he went through with it seeing as Gwen was there. You know how he gets around her."

Lestrade chuckled. "How'd Mycroft take that?"

"I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel." John commented as Sherlock missed his step, "No, Sherlock, just wait..." He inhaled deeply before even considering to direct him. "The other foot – yeah, that one... go on. There you go."

Lestrade snorted. "Well done, Princess."

Sherlock grumbled at the name, "S... rates..."

Lestrade frowned, "What?" He asked, looking at John to see him smiling at the reply.

"Socrates." Lestrade still looked confused. "Inside joke between him and Gwen."

It took a while, but they eventually got Sherlock settled on the seat in a relatively-upright position, though he slumped immediately against the door until John climbed in next to him, supporting him.

"Yeah, but, well... Mycroft probably deserved it." Lestrade told John as he climbed in the other side to support Sherlock that way. "He does kidnap people off the streets, and then talks down to them through threats because of his severe power complex."

Sherlock's head rolled onto Lestrade's shoulder as he spoke, causing the Detective Inspector to laugh. "Alright there, sunshine?" He asked as Sherlock muttered a string of words under his breath before mumbling about flowers.

John groaned when Sherlock's head landed in the crook of his head, mumbling complete nonsense as he patted the back of his head. "He should be fine once the drugs are out of his system," He told Lestrade, trying not to laugh when he heard Sherlock thank him for being a caring best friend. "... Twenty-four hours or so, he should sleep most of it off."

Lestrade snorted. "Good luck with that.

"John," Sherlock lifted his head to look at his friend, "why... the world is spinning... why?"

John rolled his eyes, "The earth spins on an axis, Sherlock." When Sherlock sent him a drugged-induced look which he interpreted as a glare, he sighed. "It's just a side-effect, Sherlock. Just sit up properly, and you'll be fine."

"You smell nice, John."

John sighed again, trying to shift him. "Do I?"

"Not as nice as Gwen..." Sherlock sounded confused. "Gwen always smells nice, that's why I hug her."

"I can't for you to tell her that," John replied as Lestrade laughed.

When they arrived at Baker Street, John dragged Sherlock out of the back of the police car and without warning, the Consulting Detective leaned against John, nearly sending them both falling.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, panicked as he put Sherlock's arm around his neck to support his weight properly. "You may be lean but you're bloody heavy."

Jogging up around the car, Lestrade winced at the sight. "I'll, uh, help you get him into the flat." Greg didn't plan to deny it; he wanted to stay for payback over the years. Sherlock had treated him like an idiot for years. But, this was too funny to miss. "D'you have your key?"

Securing Sherlock so he could balance him properly, John sighed. "Ring the bell, Mrs. Hudson should answer it."

Lestrade did as John suggested, and thankfully, Mrs. Hudson appeared a few moments later. "Oh, dear!" She cried in outrage when she saw the state Sherlock was in. "Is he all right? What on earth happened?"

"Drugged out of his mind," John told her with a weak smile. "He should be all right in the morning."

" _Drugged?"_ Mrs. Hudson practically shrieked. "What happened to him?"

Lestrade went to answer but Sherlock interrupted him, wiggling a finger at her. "Too loud, Hudders." He warned through the end of a yawn, trying to be quiet, when in fact he was louder than Mrs. Hudson had been.

Lestrade pulled out his phone and started to record as John clambered over the threshold with Sherlock. "You're joking?" John demanded, shaking his head incredulously.

"I'm not missing out on any evidence to use when he annoys me," Lestrade told John. "After years of humiliation, I've got something to blackmail him with now."

John rolled his eyes in defeat. "Fine. Just... don't show it to anyone unless he's done something really diabolical." He paused to steady Sherlock. "He'd find a way to kill you without anyone knowing... Sherlock, at least try to move your legs..."

"... Too tired, John." Sherlock's head dropped forward. "You can do it."

John groaned and began to drag him up the stairs while Greg continued to record; despite his best efforts, Sherlock wasn't much help due to his difficulty in moving. Like a sack of potatoes.

"You know," John called over his shoulder to address Lestrade who was still recording. "You could help."

"I could," Lestrade gave a nod of his head as he moved to angle his phone better, recording John and Sherlock as they went up the stairs. "But I'm a bit busy right now."

John groaned in annoyance, "You're going to regret it, I swear."

"John," Sherlock whined , "I'm too tired."

"Yeah, I heard you the first bloody time," John ground out as he hauled Sherlock to the top step, breathing heavily as Lestrade pushed past to push his phone in their faces to record them.

"Greg," John sighed.

Walking around the corner, Gwen smiled at the sight she was met with. _Poor John._ "Too you long enough." She smiled as Lestrade turned and pointed the phone at her in greeting. "I got thundered down by some coppers and still beat you here."

Despite his drugged state, Sherlock looked up and squinted. "'Wen?" His voice was slurred and barely audibly as Sherlock stumbled forward, pushing away from John. "'Wen, you're 'ere."

"God, look at you." Sherlock's head dropped again as he stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet. Catching him, Gwen sighed and looked past him to scowl at John. "You let her drug him?" She demanded, outraged, as she supported Sherlock.

"I've missed you..." She heard Sherlock mumble into the crook of her neck, making her smile as his arm wrapped around her waist.

John cleared his throat. "Come on, Sherlock," he muttered, moving to pull Sherlock away from Gwen.

"John- "

Sherlock interrupted her by pushing John off roughly, "No!"

Adjusting her hold on Sherlock, Gwen sent John a sympathetic look and began leading Sherlock to his room, "Just help me." She spoke as he moved to support Sherlock's left side. As they moved him along, she nodded to the door. "Make yourself useful, Greg. Open his door."

Opening the door, Lestrade felt slightly guilty. But, Sherlock was just too funny.

"John, John, _John_ ," Sherlock said, smiling lazily as he eyes became glassy, closing before he blinked repeatedly. "'Wen's here."

"I know," John told him. "Almost there... You're going to be all right after you've slept this off." He assured him as Gwen smiled.

"Listen to your doctor, Socrates."

Sherlock looked at her again, lazily smiling. "See? Told... you so..." He nodded, leaning towards John suddenly. "You're my doctor."

"That's right," John responded as they sat Sherlock down on the bed before John kneeled to untie his shoes.

"Why do you take care of me?" Sherlock asked quietly, the most coherently spoken response since he'd got back home. He sat and wriggling his tones after John removed his shoes. "Why?"

Gwen frowned softly, smiling as she removed his suit jacket, passing it to John as Lestrade continued to record. "Someone's got to take care of you," Gwen breathed out, forcing a smile as she helped John up.

Grabbing Gwen's arm, Sherlock pulled her back suddenly. "You've always looked after me." He looked at her with his glassy eyes, and Gwen smiled at him. "I like you, 'Wen."

Gwen smiled at him. "Good." She brushed it off as nothing, knowing that anything Sherlock said in his drugged state was questionable.

"That's nice," John patted Sherlock's shoulder. "Stand up."

Sherlock rose to his feet shakily, still holding Gwen's arm. "I like Gwen very much," he went on, ignoring the fact that she was stood right there. "More than anyone."

No one answered, and instead Gwen moved to pull down the duvet and bed sheet before gently pushing Sherlock back onto the bed. "Go to sleep." She told him.

Sherlock grumbled at him before turning on his side, allowing himself to give in to the drug. "You're... not... I like 'Wen, John. I want her to move back in because I don't want Mycroft to have her." He yawned and closed his eyes.

John nodded, "I know, Sherlock."

Lestrade's finger hovered over the button to stop recording. He was slightly captivated by the scene unfolding before him. He felt like he was intruding on a private moment.

John pulled the sheet over Sherlock and tucked him in firmly, hoping it would trap him. "Just sleep, Sherlock."

"Stay, Gwen," Sherlock mumbled into his pillow. "I like you too much. I think I…" he yawned again and the last bit was never heard.

"What was that, Sherlock?" John smiled.

"You're the best friend I've ever had," he nuzzled his pillow, slurring the last couple words. "I like being with Gwen. Lots."

Scratching the back of his, John cleared his throat and looked to his left to see that Gwen wasn't there. It was only him and Greg. "Right, well..." He sighed and looked at his friend on the bed. "Sleep, Sherlock. That's an order."

"Piss 'ff," Sherlock muttered into the pillow, turning away from John entirely.

"You're welcome." John spoke, louder than necessary, rubbing his forehead. "C'mon, Greg. Have a cup of tea before you go, yeah?"

"Thanks, John." Lestrade nodded, knowing he didn't really deserve for all the help he'd neglected to offer. "Give me a sec."

Once John had left, Lestrade looked to the bed, and leaned over Sherlock as he groaned. "G... way..."

"Call if you need anything," He said, even though he was certain Sherlock had probably fallen asleep as he made his way over to the door. "You know where to find me."

When he closed the door, he smiled thankfully as Gwen handed him a warm mug of tea. "Thanks for your help, Greg." She told him, resting on the arm of Sherlock's chair as John settled in his armchair.

"Don't mention it." Greg smiled sheepishly until he caught John's eye and he paled instantly. "I, uh, I didn't really help though, did I?"

John cleared his throat, sitting up in his chair. "Well, when you put it that way- "

Gwen cut him off with a glare, "Thank you anyway, John could have struggled on his own." She told him softly, a small smile forming on her lips. "Instead, he struggled with you by his side."

At her words, Lestrade started laughing. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity of not having any dirt on him, could I?" He shrugged, taking a gulp of his drink.

"It's a rare thing to see," Gwen agreed with a nod. "He doesn't do it as often as he used to, so I understand your initiative."

"If he's ever a dickhead- "

"Which is always." John interjected.

Lestrade smiled, gesturing to his phone. "Then I can use this as leverage... John, you look knackered mate."

"Well, if you had hauled a drugged Sherlock Holmes up and down several flights of stairs, you would be too."

Gwen looked over and had to agree with him; John looked positively drained. "John, perhaps you should go to bed?" She suggested gently, setting her drink down. "If he wakes up, I can deal with him."

John shook his head, "I can't."

"Well," Lestrade let out, "I better go, I can't leave Donovan to hold the fort any longer..." He gestured to the door and Gwen pushed off from the chair.

"I'll see you out."

"See you soon, John." Lestrade called over his shoulder as he jogged down the stairs, Gwen following him. "So, did you want to go for that coffee?"

John smiled at Greg's question, seeing no harm in it, though he frowned when he didn't catch Gwen's reply.

"John!"

"Damn Sherlock," John Watson grumbled as he walked down the hall to Sherlock's bedroom. Not even five minutes, and he was calling his name following the thump of something heavy hitting the floor, which John assumed was most likely Sherlock.

Turning the door handle, John opened the door and glanced round the room. Sprawled on the floor, a drugged Sherlock was trying his best to sit up but instead, continued to fall in a heavy heap on the floor.

"John," Sherlock groaned, fighting the sheet that had tangled him. "The room is spinning." He let out, annoyed as John grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet.

Sherlock's legs gave out as he fell onto John, causing the pair of them to fall backwards onto the bed, pinning John beneath Sherlock. Attempting to push off the ragdoll, John soon gave when he didn't budge.

"Sherlock," John breathed out, trying to turn his head so he could breath as he continued to try and free himself. "Sherlock, do you think you can move?"

The low grumble of Sherlock's voice sounded as he tried to reply, "John," Sherlock paused for a moment. "Your thoughts are _too_ loud," Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

"Everything all ri-" Gwen paused mid-sentence and stared when her eyes fell upon Sherlock lying atop John who was struggling beneath. "Oh for goodness sake." She muttered, striding into the room to roll Sherlock off of John, freeing the doctor.

"Stop thinking and go to sleep," Sherlock grumbled as he was pushed off of John, face first into the bed sheet.

"Are you all right?" Gwen asked as she helped John up with a faint laugh, noticing he'd gone red in the face with not being able to breathe.

Turning her attention to Sherlock as John left the room, she rolled him back into a comfortable position and moved to tuck him in again. "Just try to sleep. The sooner you do that, the sooner you'll be back to normal."

Sherlock mumbled something into his pillow and she smiled at him, moving away to leave his bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Leaning against the door, she sighed. Meeting John's gaze, she sent him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Greg kept me talking... are you all right?" She walked towards him, helping him sit down. John nodded in reply and she saw down opposite him. "So... she just drugged him?"

John nodded, "Apparently." He rubbed his forehead tiredly, looking up at her as she reclined in Sherlock's chair. "She's bloody mad, Gwen. First time I saw her she was naked! Then she drugs him out of the blue..."

Gwen frowned, "There's got to be more to it than that surely." Gwen knew it was also centred around the camera phone that she kept on her person at all times. She didn't understand it completely yet.

"I know it doesn't make much sense but-"

" _Much_?" Gwen questioned with wide eyes. "There is no sense to it, John. Our friend is currently lying there in a severe drug induced state while we wait for him to recover." Gwen gestured to the room angrily, hating the fact that she was lying to John again. John needed a new lifestyle, to be away from those who would harm him. "What is she like?"

John shrugged, "Dominatrix is used lightly."

Gwen made a face.

"What?" John asked, frowning at her. "Go on, what is it?"

"Nothing."

"John?" Sherlock's voice rose into the air again and the pair of them groaned, sighing in disbelief at his persistence.

Sherlock had managed to stand himself up, the sheets tangled around him. Losing his balance, he flipped himself over the bed and landed on the ground again with a thud.

The door opened and John stood there. "You okay?" John asked, tilting his head at him in question.

"How did I get here?" Sherlock pressed, wanting to know.

John sighed, scratching his ear. "Well, I don't suppose you remember much... you weren't making a lot of sense," He paused, watching as Sherlock fought with his sheet to stand. "I should warn you, Lestrade filmed you on his phone."

"Where is she?"

John frowned at him. "Where's who?"

"The woman. _That_ woman," Sherlock threw his hands up into the hand in frustration. "THEEE woman!" He seemed to grow more agitated the longer John looked at him. "The Woman... _woman_!"

"Oh, Irene Adler!" John caught on with a slight smile. "She... Got away. No one saw her." John watched his flatmate dither around the room in a confused haze and he felt guilty. He had never seen Sherlock look so vulnerable before. "She wasn't here... Sherlock?"

John arched a brow at him when he started crawling on the ground, looking for something. "What are you... What's..." He trailed off, watching Sherlock for a few second before he decided to move and actually do something. He couldn't stand there and watch his helplessness. "No, no, no." John hooked his arms beneath Sherlock's armpits and his folded his hands together to support his chest and hoisted him up. "Back to bed."

Suddenly, Sherlock's face hit the pillow with a quiet thud.

John sighed. "You'll be fine in the morning..." John said, hoping it was true. "Just... Sleep."

"Of course I'll be fine," Sherlock stated harshly, sounding very much like a child. "I _am_ fine. I'm _absolutely_ fine."

"Yes. You're great," said John slowly, stepping away from Sherlock. "Now I'll be next door if you need me."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock snapped drowsily.

"No idea," John closed the door.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed at the top of his lungs, but the door didn't open again. "Come back! John!"

John was about to go back in but Gwen sighed, drawing his attention to her. "Just ignore him and he'll settle down." She warranted, knowing what Sherlock was like.

John stared at her, moving away from the door gradually. "Really?" He asked, still feeling uneasy.

Smiling slightly, Gwen tilted her head at John, finding his concern for Sherlock endearing. "John, he's an adult version of a child." She reprimanded, rolling her eyes as the doctor settled back down into his chair. "Leave him to settle."

John sighed when he found his tea cold. "And if he doesn't?" He challenged, wanting to know Gwen's backup plan... if she had one that was.

Gwen gave a soft shrug of her shoulders. "It was only a suggestion." Leaning forward, Gwen offered John her tea which he took immediately. "John, just relax... Sherlock is absolutely fine, he's in safe hands." She knew reassuring John wouldn't do much seeing as he was so tense and panicked.

She felt bad for John Watson, guilty even. He'd been thrown onto a train that had no destination, one that was out of control, without any warning and without anyone to stop it. She pitied him for the lifestyle he'd adapted to; he was blind if he thought it would have a happy ending. Happy endings didn't exist, and if they did, Sherlock Holmes would ruin them.

"He's done it before..." John started slowly, watching her carefully as he realised she knew how to handle the situation. "You've seen him like this before, haven't you?"

Gwen stared at him for a moment before she nodded. "I've seen him worse than this..." She said in a hope to calm John somewhat. She knew it was a long shot, but his shoulders slumped some. "You've just got to watch out for..." She was cut off when his screams erupted into the air, and Gwen immediately rose to her feet. "Nightmares."

"Nightmares?"

Gwen sighed, "It's either wake him up or suffer his insistent screams for God knows how long."

John stared after her as she moved toward the bedroom, seeing no point in arguing with her. He didn't really fancy having to listen to screams all night. "Are you sure?" He called after her, knowing it was no easy thing.

"Yeah, I've got this." Gwen told him softly, her hand seizing the handle. "Get some sleep, I don't mind dealing with him when he's like this." Stepping into his bedroom again, Gwen paused when she saw Sherlock thrashing on his bed. "Sherlock?"

"No, stop..." Sherlock yelled. "John! John, help! _Help!_ "

Immediately, her hands gripped his shoulders as she roughly shook him, causing him to freeze for several moments. "Sherlock! Wake up!" Gwen shouted, her hands still shaking his shoulders in a hope of rousing him. "Come on, it's only a nightmare."

Gasping hard, Sherlock opened his eyes to see Gwen's anxious face above him.

She watched him for a moment, wondering if he recognised it was her. _Nightmare or night terror?_ Gwen breathed a sigh of relief when she saw recognition in Sherlock's eyes as he allowed her to sit him on the bed.

"You were having a nightmare," Gwen explained softly, helping him sit up for a moment. "It sounded pretty horrific... are you all right?"

"It was Irene," Sherlock said shortly, sitting up in bed to wrap his arms around his legs as he drew them up to his chest. "She'd drugged me."

"Go on," Gwen prompted after Sherlock was quiet for several moments. "Did something happen? Because it's not real, Sherlock. It could down to the precognitive thought process of your brain-

"It was a _nightmare_ , Gwen."

Gwen nodded, "Are you worried about anything? Stressed?"

Shuddering, Sherlock shook his head, meeting her eyes. "She kept touching me... I couldn't move."

 _Sleep paralysis_ , Gwen thought with a wince. She was silent for a few moments, registering what he'd told her. Having no movement in dreams or nightmares was terrifying, she could vouch for that. "Why did it scare you?" Gwen finally asked.

"Irene... You... She called me _the Virgin_." He murmured quietly, looking away rom Gwen. "Why weren't you there? Why didn't you save me?"

Gwen looked down, "Mycroft's a hard man to slip..." She smiled when she saw the look of disgust on his face. "I'm playing both sides, remember?" She held his gaze when looked at her, frowning slightly. "It was just a nightmare, Sherlock. Try and get some sleep." She stood from the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

Sherlock watched her through his tired gaze, "Thank you, Gwen."

"What for?" She asked, amused.

"... Coming back."

Smiling to herself, Gwen closed his bedroom door and return to the living to find herself alone, thankful that John had taken her advise and decided to get some sleep. Settling back into the chair, she knew it wouldn't be long before the silence would be interrupted again.

When it was, it wasn't Sherlock. Instead, it was the message tone belonging to her phone.

 **Did you get it? – MH**

Gwen stared at the words, frowning at their meaning. She knew he was referring to the phone Irene carried on her at all times. There was no way she could see herself getting her hands on that. Not unless Adler was dead. It was an impossible task.

 **Sorry, you'll have to be specific. – GC**

She didn't like being Mycroft's puppet. A toy for him to use at his own will to spy on Jim. It wouldn't work, and it wouldn't end well. Jim was too clever, too strong... and his hold on her was far more suffocating than Mycroft's. Jim would kill her in an instant if necessary. Mycroft cared too much to do that. That was his weakness; he was sentimental, his very own enemy.

 **I'm sending a car to pick you up so we can talk in person. – MH**

Reading the reply, she sighed at how evident his power complex was. It annoyed her endlessly, to know that Mycroft Holmes thought he could order her about. She contemplated telling him about his brother, but decided against it knowing he would probably blame her.

 **Can't. – GC**

It was silent for a while, and she thought for a moment that he'd given up, and that he'd stop bugging her for something he had no chance of getting anyway.

 **Don't make me order you. – MH**

As she went to reply, she sighed. Sherlock couldn't even last twenty minutes. He'd been silent for most of those twenty minutes, and she had hoped that was going to be the last of it until he'd slept off the effects.

Obviously, that wasn't meant to happen. Inhaling deeply, Gwen opened the bedroom door and peered inside to see Sherlock sitting up. "What's wrong?" She asked, her tone soft and patient despite how annoyed she was becoming. She frowned when she saw his head was in his hands, closing the door behind her, she stepped into the room. "Sherlock..."

"I think... going to be sick," He managed to tell her.

"All right," Gwen spoke, reaching for the bucket John had placed by the bed just in case. "The bucket's right here if you need it." She had to hold back a laugh when Sherlock looked at her, appalled by the offer until his head disappeared. "Okay, there we go..."

 _Lovely_. Leaving Sherlock to throw up into the bucket, Gwen disappeared into the bathroom to grab some tissues. When she returned, she winced hearing the sound of projectile vomiting echoing in the bedroom.

"Careful," She took the bucket from him and handed him the tissues despite his questioning on why he would need them. Raising both brows, Gwen sighed and wiped his nose and mouth for him. "Lie down again, and I'll get you some water."

She confessed herself shocked when he did as asked, settling down again as she went back into the bathroom to take care of it. When she returned with the glass of water and the clean bucket, she hoped Sherlock was asleep from the lack of movement. Sighing in relief, she went to leave.

"Gwen..."

Closing her eyes, she sighed. "What is it, Socrates?"

"Mycroft..."

At the mention of his brother, she turned around to face him with a frown. She didn't expect him to say Mycroft of all things. "What about him... did you want me to call him?" She didn't know what he wanted or why he had brought him up.

It was Mycroft's fault he was in such a state in the first place.

Rolling her eyes as Sherlock tried to sit up again, he shook his head firmly. "No," He breathed, reaching for the water to chug it down. "... What he said about..."

"Sherlock, just lie down." Gwen moved toward the bed again and untangled Sherlock's legs from the sheets in amusement before she sat on the edge of the bed, frowning softly. "What did he say?"

"You were there," Sherlock bit out, obviously annoyed by whatever Mycroft had said. It was clearly bugging him. " _How would I know... How..._ "

Gwen paused, thinking over the events of that day and when they had spoken... _Buckingham Palace._ She frowned again, playing over his words for a moment before – _Oh._ "What about it?"

"He was right."

Gwen stared at him. "Right about what?

Rubbing his forehead, Sherlock sighed irritably, trying to reason with himself. "When he said..." He paused, swallowing thickly. "... wouldn't know if sex... alarmed..."

Gwen's head rose in understanding. "And that bothers you... why?" She prompted, knowing that he was the more emotional one but also that despite not accepting human feelings, he did need to talk about them.

Looking up suddenly, Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her as he leaned forward. "Does it bother you?"

"No, why would it?"

Sherlock cringed, looking away as his head fell into his hands. "It bothers me." He took a deep breath.

"There's no need to be embarrassed about it, Sherlock." Sighing, she reached for the nearest hand and drew his attention to her again. "It doesn't matter." She told him firmly, holding his gaze.

He shook his head slightly. "It does."

"Why?" Gwen persisted.

"Because."

Did honestly think it would bother her? They'd known one another for what? Six years. _Six years_ and Sherlock still behaved as though they were strangers sometimes. It infuriated her. "Sherlock," Gwen said. "Do you remember the day I moved in here? The _very_ first time?"

"Hmm..." He frowned for a moment thinking. "Not really."

Gwen smiled at his attempt. "You asked me why I wasn't married or in a relationship. You made the point of saying that it was ridiculous because being French is an attractive attribute to possess due to stereotyping." She paused as he took it all in, smiling more when he frowned in thought. _He is trying..._ "You were baffled by the knowledge that I was alone because- "

Sherlock cut her off, looking at her properly. "I called you beautiful." He looked pleased with himself. Smug, even.

Gwen nodded, ignoring how sweaty his palms were as his fingers grasped hers. "You did, not in so many words, but yes." She agreed, watching him sit forward, crossing his legs. "And then you took it back, and apologised profusely for then calling me ugly."

Sherlock winced briefly before he smiled. "You laughed."

"It was the polite thing to do; I deemed punching you in the face as not appropriate for a first meeting." She explained simply, shrugging it off as his eyes widened at her. "Your perception of me is a reflection of you, Socrates. Anyway, sex isn't just about reaction or touch..."

Sherlock's brow changed slowly, before his mouth fell open. "You can't change the subject like that!" He accused, staring at her incredulously.

Gwen laughed at him. "I wanted to make sure you were listening." She told him as he settled, thankfully calming down again otherwise he would wake poor John Watson. "Anyway, it depends on the nature..."

"Love?"

"Love." Gwen looked at him for a moment. He was watching her curiously, like a puppy with its head tilted in question. "Well, then it comes down to two things:romantic intensity and romantic profundity." She smiled when she saw him frowning, probably trying to find the distinction between the two. _"_ Romantic intensity expresses a romantic experience at a given moment whilst romantic profundity involves shared activities that fulfil needs that are constitutive of a couple's long-term relationship."

What he said next shocked her slightly. "Love at first sight?" Sherlock asked as though it was a normal thing coming from his mouth.

Sitting on the bed properly so she was sat next to him, Gwen knew that there was no backing out of the conversation now. How had they gone from talking about Mycroft to _this?_ "Uh, well... love at first sight would count as intense love... So, like what the person believes about the person they love, the strength of that evaluation..." She trailed off, struggling, more so because Sherlock was practically looming over her, watching and waiting for answers.

Trying again, Gwen had to ignore him. "It's apparently linked to the "personality halo", which is someone who is perceived as having a specific personality trait – this makes them attractive to others." Gwen sighed in thought, "I don't know, it comes down to psychology, doesn't it? About how the brain perceives everything... and what's attractive..."

Adjusting his position on the bed, Sherlock settled down next to her, staring at the hand he still held. "Why do people call it sex and making love separately?" He pressed, frowning deeply. "What's difference?"

Gwen blinked. Gwen didn't know when the conversation had gotten so personal, though she was slightly shocked that Sherlock was willingly participating. Clearing her throat, she frowned. "Well, sex is the desire for physical contact with another body – it's mechanical. That's like anything from rubbing to biting...it's _mechanical_ though, so these are way of mechanically stimulating or arousing oneself. And- "

"Making love?" Sherlock prompted.

Gwen bit the inside of her cheek, wondering why she had bothered. "Making love is about uniting rather than being separate, essentially "two hearts beating at one". It's much more personal because of the intimacy and solidarity between those involved, they become one." Gwen looked at him to Sherlock frowning deeply. ""One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.""

"Who said that?" Sherlock asked, looking at her.

Letting her head rest against the headboard, Gwen smiled. "Shakespeare..."

Sherlock thought for a moment, "Merchant of Venice?"

"So there is some sense in there after all?" She teased as he copied her actions. "Your brother doesn't understand the physicality and mentality in sex, he's not exactly a love guru is he"

Sherlock rolled onto his side, looking up at her. "He doesn't?"

"No, but honestly, how can anyone?" Gwen smiled slowly, moving his feral curls out of his eyes. "Can love even be defined?"

"You just did it." Sherlock pointed out which made her laugh. Smiling slowly, he pushed himself up. "What?"

Gwen shook her head, staring forward. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, you've got better things to be embarrassed about than that. It's fine. It's _all_ fine." She didn't make to move, knowing it would only disturb Sherlock even more seeing as he was clutching her hand more tightly than he had been before. "Try to get some sleep, Sherlock. You know we'll have to handle Mycroft tomorrow."

"Mycroft can piss off."

Gwen laughed. "My sentiments exactly."

"Gwen?"

"Hmm." She looked back at him then.

"You're moving back in."

"Thank God," She breathed in relief. "Now, budge over." She waited until Sherlock had made himself comfortable again before lying down next to him, draping an arm over him.

"You're right," Sherlock smiled softly. "It doesn't matter, I'm Socrates."

* * *

Sherlock blinked.

Why did she have to do that? Looking over the top of his newspaper, he spied Gwen sitting opposite him as she sat chewing on a piece of toast. His eyes narrowed as he met the black collar of one of his shirts. He couldn't have her doing that. Mrs. Hudson would start questioning him.

"Do you mind?" Sherlock demanded suddenly, frowning at her before pointing to his shirt. "Do you not own any clothes of your own?"

Narrowing his eyes, Gwen sent Sherlock a warning look. "I cleaned up your vomit, I'll have you know." She reminded and smiled when he immediately stropped pressing the matter. Anyway, she couldn't help it if she didn't have any clean clothes... though, when she considered it, there was a chance there was some in her flat.

Peering over his newspaper, Sherlock looked over at her. Why did she insist on wearing his shirt? She never even asked. _Why pay when you can take..._ "Gwen..." He started, making her look up from whatever she was reading on his laptop.

"Hmm." Gwen murmured, eyes unblinking as she slowly met Sherlock's gaze.

Setting his newspaper down, he sighed. "Did you mean what you said last night?" Sherlock asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sipping her tea, she tilted her head in question. "Which bit? I said _a lot_ last night."

"Love."

John nearly choked on his tea, "Love?"

"Love." Sherlock repeated, ignoring John's musing as he continued to look at the woman opposite him. "Love at first sight, making love... to love. _All of it_." His eyes darted to John who was staring at him wide-eyed, even Mrs. Hudson had stopped fluttering around in the kitchen at his words.

Smiling slightly, Gwen shrugged. "It always intrigued me and oddly enough, it got you to shut up." John laughed and she continued smiled. "You brought up the conversation anyway."

"I did." Sherlock agreed. He still wondered why Gwen had told him what she had, and wondered why she had recited that particular Shakespeare verse to him as well... it bugged him. "Your explanation was very thorough, thank you."

"Wait," John interrupted them, evidently confused. "What conversation? When did this conversation occur?" He looked between the pair of them expectantly as Gwen smiled in amusement.

"Gwen and I shared a bed last night." Sherlock told John honestly, causing the man to once again, almost choke on his tea in shock. "Honestly John... nothing happened, don't get all hot and bothered over nothing." He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I would have left," Gwen spoke up, leaning forward as she sent Sherlock a playful glare. "But after a while of tedious fighting, I gave up."

"So..." John looked between them again, "You just talked?"

Gwen nodded before she looked at Sherlock again. "Why do I find you most pleasant when you're drugged?" She propped a hand under her chin and she smirked.

Sherlock frowned at her, "I'm always pleasant."

Mrs. Hudson laughed from the kitchen.

" _I am!_ " Sherlock challenged, smiling when he saw Gwen laugh, leaning back into the chair in her own amusement as he watched her.

"You were drugged?"

Gwen rolled her eyes as she looked towards the door, finding herself not surprised when she saw Mycroft lurking there with his umbrella in hand. "Oh, no one likes a dirty eavesdropper, Myckie." She commented which made Sherlock chuckle.

Mycroft stared at her as he walked further into the room, glancing sideways as he saw Mrs. Hudson tinkering about in the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson." He greeted politely as the landlady turned to look at him.

"Oh, it's you." Gwen snorted at her response, causing Mycroft's head to snap in her direction. He stilled, however, when his eys fell upon her bare legs which held his attention.

Nearing the table, Sherlock straightened when Mycroft loomed over them all. "You shared a bed with Sherlock?" Mycroft arched a brow, "How was it? Rigid? Awkward? Fiddly?"

Knowing Mycroft was being outright cruel was no apparent reason other than being jealous, Gwen chose to feed into it, hoping Sherlock would do the same. "It was quite pleasant, wasn't it Sherlock?" She smiled over at the curly-haired brother. "We were both as snug as a bug in a rug, weren't we Socrates?"

Concealing his smile, Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes, it was very cosy. _And warm_." He agreed with a small smile, his eyes soft unlike Mycroft as he stood clutching his umbrella. "The cuddling was my favourite bit."

"Oh, how could I forget the cuddling?"

Closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, Mycroft knew the two of them were merely winding him up. "All right, you've had your fun..." He breathed in warning.

Gwen turned to look up at Mycroft, glowering at him as she felt her own frustration getting the better of her. "You know what to do next time then, don't you? Leave your brother's sex life out of this bloody rivalry." She spat in his face as Sherlock felt an odd sense of pride surge through his chest at seeing Gwen's defiance.

Mycroft scoffed in disbelief. "You can't tell me what- "

Gwen's eyes flew to Sherlock immediately. "How soon did you say I could move back in?" She asked, cutting off Mycroft completely.

Sherlock thought for a moment, enjoying the look of complete puzzlement and slight shock on his brother's face. "Today sound good?" He smiled at her.

"Wonderful." Gwen agreed with a firm nod, rising to her feet so she was stood directly in front of Mycroft. "Your company isn't something I wish to keep any longer if _this_ is what I've got to put up with." She made to move past him but his caught her wrist in his hand and yanked her back.

"Mycroft," John warned when he saw Sherlock's fists tighten around the newspaper he was holding.

"What does _this_ exactly mean?" Mycroft questioned, glaring at Gwen as she held it steadily. "Quite vague for someone with a serpent's tongue, I'm quite- "

"It means I would rather live with Sherlock." Gwen breathed out, practically seethed as she ripped her wrist free as Mycroft looked as though he'd been slapped. "At least he treats me as though I am a _human being_. I need to breath, and with you, that's something I can't do."

"You can't be serious." He laughed, gesturing to the flat around them. "You _want_ to live here? _Here_?"

"Yes, I _want_ to live here." Gwen retorted, coming to stand behind Sherlock to put some distance between herself and Mycroft, so she could calm down. "I never wanted to leave."

Clearing his throat, Sherlock was the one to break the tense silence that had fallen across the room. "The photographs are perfectly safe." He told Mycroft, hoping it would draw his attention away from Gwen to discuss Irene Adler.

Coming to stand where Gwen had been sat, Mycroft shoved a hand into his pocket. "In the hands of a fugitive sex worker..."

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants..." Sherlock looked to Gwen as she moved into the kitchen, away from Mycroft. His gaze lingered upon her legs for a moment. "protection for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?" He asked, looking at Mycroft as he moved as well.

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs?" Mycroft replied angrily, his frustration still evident from the furious expression he wore. "Our hands are tied."

"She'd applaud your choice of words." Sherlock commented dryly. "You see how this works: that camera phone is her "Get out of jail free" card. You have to leave her alone." Sherlock looked back at his newspaper and rolled his eyes, "Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

"Though not the way she treats royalty." As he looked at Mycroft, John smiled sarcastically at John before returning it.

Out of nowhere an orgasmic female sigh drifted through the room.

Mycroft frowned and looked over at Gwen but she was helping Mrs. Hudson, or rather Mrs. Hudson was handing her a velvet bag. _Not her..._ As she stood with her back to him, his eyes trailed down and lingered upon her bare legs until Sherlock coughed, drawing his attention to find his little brother glowering at him hazardously.

John frowned as well, "What was that?"

"Text." Sherlock answered for the both of them as he got up and went over to pick his phone up to read the message.

 **Good morning, Mr. Holmes.**

"But what was that noise?" John pressed.

"Text alert, John." Gwen told him as returned with a plate of food.

"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess." He hissed, returning to the table before stealing a piece of bacon from Gwen's plate.

Mycroft stared as Sherlock ate the piece of meat, his eyes widening when she hit him on the side of the head before apologising and offering him her tea.

"Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft." John added, noticing Mycroft's lingering gaze.

Watching as Mrs. Hudson brought over Sherlock's breakfast, Gwen smiled when he passed her a piece of bacon to make up for the one he'd stolen. "Don't say I don't know how to treat you."

Gwen laughed, "No, you just leave me to pay the bills."

Turning to face Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson scowled at him disapprovingly. "It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that." She asserted sternly. "Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft, however, had lost his rag. "Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson."

"MYCROFT!"

"Presumptuous prick." Gwen breathed, eyeing him dangerously from where she sat.

Mycroft studied the face of Sherlock and John for a moment, noting their enraged expressions before he looked over at Gwen to see her looking at him disappointedly. Cringing, he looked contritely at Mrs. Hudson. "Apologies." He bit out.

Mrs. Hudson smirked smugly. "Thank you."

"Though do, in fact, shut up." Sherlock added as Gwen kicked his leg, making him jolt under the table. His eyes flew to hers questioningly to see anger radiating within her brow orbs. He went to speak but his phone let out the orgasmic female sigh again.

Mrs. Hudson sighed, "Ooh. It's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?" She asked, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

 **Feeling better?**

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see."

"I can put maximum surveillance on her." Mycroft offered, licking his lips as he shifted slightly.

"Why bother?" Sherlock asked with a bored tone, returning to his paper. "You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is "TheWhipHand"."

"Yes. Most amusing." Mycroft smiled sarcastically as his phone rang. Taking it from his pocket, he sighed. "'Scuse me." He walked out into the hallway as Sherlock and Gwen watched him leave. "Hello..."

John looked at Sherlock, frowning. "Why do your phone make that noise?"

"What noise?"

John smiled sheepishly before gesturing to his phone. "That noise – the one it just made."

Sherlock frowned a him. "It's a text alert. It means I've got a text."

"Hmm." John thought for a moment, watching as Sherlock picked from Gwen's plate again despite having his own plate of food. "Your texts don't usually make that noise." He pointed out.

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise."

Gwen looked up when she felt eyes on her, and frowned when she saw John watching her. "Don't look at me – you'd think I'd willingly make that noise so it would be heard in public?" She demanded as John smiled at her, shaking his head.

"Hmm... So every time they text you..." Right on cue, the phone sighed again.

Sherlock set down his newspaper, "It would seem so."

"Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life." Mrs. Hudson asked coming back into the room, making Gwen smile.

 **I'm fine since you didn't ask.**

Sherlock put down his phone and immediately went back to reading his paper until John spoke again, still confused. "I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" Sherlock moved the paper up slowly so it was obscuring his face. "Gwen, how did you have the coat?"

Looking up from her plate, Gwen frowned in thought. She couldn't necessarily tell him about Irene Adler whilst Mycroft was still there. "It was outside on the railing when I came in."

John frowned.

"I'll leave you to your deductions." Sherlock added.

John smiled when he saw Gwen steal some more bacon. "I'm not stupid, y'know."

"Where do you get that idea?" Sherlock remarked as Mycroft wandered back into the room.

Still talking on his phone, his met Gwen's gaze. "Bone Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later." As he hung up, Gwen pulled out his phone from the shirt pocket.

 **Bond Air is go. – GC**

"What else does she have?" Sherlock pressed as Mycroft looked at him enquiringly. "Irene Adler... the Americans wouldn't be interest in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." Sherlock stood suddenly and moved towards Mycroft, "Much more... something big's coming, isn't it?" He asked as Mycroft looked at him expressionlessly.

 **Is that a riddle? – JM**

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours." Mycroft breathed out threateningly. "From now on you will stay out of this."

Sherlock glowered at him, not breaking eye contact. " _Oh, will I?_ "

Taking the opportunity while the brothers were at locked horns with one another, Gwen chose to reply to Jim.

 **Pretty sure it's linked to the counter-terrorism project. – GC**

"Yes, Sherlock, _you will_." John and Gwen shared a look as Sherlock shrugged and turned away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

"Do give her my love," Sherlock called as he picked up his violin and began to play "God Save the Queen".

Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned to leave as Sherlock followed him. John grinned in amusement until Mycroft turned and his eyes landed on Gwen.

"Guinevere, a word please." He gestured for her to follow him.

Reluctantly, Gwen rose to her feet and set down her plate to follow Mycroft as he waited for her. Taking the bag Mrs. Hudson had given her into hand, she smiled. Closing the door behind them, he turned to face her, staring at her carefully.

With a grin, she presented the bag before Mycroft. "If you'd be so kind, dear." She held the edges as he stared at her, raising a slight brow in question. "The idea is that you withdraw a name."

Mycroft grimaced, "I don't partake in foolish activities."

Inclining her head, Gwen frowned. "Just pick a bloody name, Mycroft."

Mycroft stared at her for another moment, considering her order as John watched him, amused. "This is so trivial..." He muttered, reaching into the bag and riffling through several folded strips of paper. Retrieving a strip, he removed his hand and briefly glanced at the paper and inwardly cringed. Which fool invented the tedious nature of Secret Santa? "And?"

"You go buy a gift for said person."

"And why would I do that?" Mycroft challenged.

Gwen smirked, "Because you're coming to the gathering on Christmas Eve." Mycroft started to shake his head, but she stopped him. "You haven't even looked."

"Who did you draw?" Mycroft pressed.

"John." She answered with a soft smile. "But, of course, I'll be buying for everyone else as well."

"I suppose I could indulge myself in this petty festivity." Mycroft rolled his shoulders and unfolded the strip of paper, reading it:

 _Sherlock Holmes_

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?" He showed her the paper and frowned, obviously disappointed with who he'd drawn.

"He's your brother," Gwen told him, staring at him with a frown. "It shouldn't be too hard."

Mycroft sighed. "Can I pick another instead?"

"No." Gwen tucked the bag behind her back. "You will follow the rules, and you will be attending."

"Who else is coming?" Mycroft asked, cringing.

Gwen thought for a moment, "Greg, Molly... John and his latest flame. Obviously, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock, myself... you get the idea." She laughed at his facial expression. "Don't look so horrified, it's only a social gathering."

Mycroft grimaced again. "Exactly." Turning back to the matter at hand, Mycroft held his head highly. "You've interacted with Irene Adler in the past twenty-four hours haven't you?"

Gwen watched him for a moment before nodded. "I picked her up yesterday." She answered honestly, he'd only have to check security cameras to know if she was lying. "She also held a gun to my head if I recall..."

His eyes widened silently but soon returned to their normal, deadened self. "Do you know where she keeps her information?"

"She has a camera phone in her possession."

Turning his attention to his umbrella, he refused to meet her eye and pretended to be distracted with the handle. "I would like you to obtain said camera phone and deliver it to me personally."

"The least you could do is look at me when you ask me to do something," Gwen commented as his eyes immediately flew to hers with a look of hope in them. "Unfortunately, I can't do that." She added flatly. "You see, it interferes with my other contract. I've been told to protect her by both you and my brother, and yet you're requesting I remove her protection – by doing so, her death would be guaranteed." Gwen explained, folding her arms over her chest as she tilted her head in question.

Mycroft clenched his fist in vexation, sighing deeply. "I need the information she possesses, _Miss Chevalier_." He was practically fuming, and it didn't help that she was smiling at him. "It is vital as a member of the British Government that we have it within our custody."

"Tell me more, Mr. Bond." Her voice had grown soft and almost playful as she leaned against the bannister. "What was that little phone call back there?"

"That is none of your business, Guinevere."

"Thought as much." Gwen smiled knowingly. "I still can't get you her phone."

"I understand." Mycroft gave a curt nod, moving to descend the stairs so he could leave. "Though, I do question where your loyalties truly lie."

Grabbing the end of his umbrella, Gwen pulled him back so he was stood in front of her. She smiled when she noticed he was wearing a red tie. Smoothing out the silk with her hand, she straightened it and smiled. "Red suits you." She commented in amusement.

Looking down at her, Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the shirt she was wearing ride up to reveal bare skin. "I apologise, Guinevere." He managed to say through a clenched jaw.

Letting go of his tie, she frowned. "Pardon?"

Mycroft met her eyes for a moment, and sighed. "I... I apologise for making you feel that way." He announced quietly, surprising himself that he was actually apologising for what was the truth. "I didn't intend to... to ever..." He trailed off, moving to leave.

Reaching for his hand, she made him stop again. "It's safer for you this way," She saw him frown at her words. "You don't know him like I do... it will ensure your protection."

"I'm the British Government, Guinevere."

Gwen smiled. "Me moving back here will distract him from you." Gwen told him as Mycroft's face dropped, much like a penny. Did he honestly think she was _that_ cruel? "From then on, I know what to do." She told him, straightening the lapels on his coat and ignoring the blush that had crept up his neck. "Go do some government stuff, Mr. Bond."

Mycroft smiled slightly, allowing his lips to twitch in amusement. "Gwen-"

"Don't make me order you." Gwen told him firmly, watching as he visibly straightened and cleared his throat. "I'll be in contact soon," She added and he nodded but completely froze when she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Goodbye, my dear."

Stepping back into the flat, Gwen let out a low sigh of relief. She frowned when she saw that Sherlock had continued to pick at her plate. "That man is exhausting," She breathed, earning a look from John.

"I forgot to ask, how is Miss Adler?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from his paper as Gwen returned to her original chair.

John paused at Sherlock's question, his eyes widening in slow realisation. "She was very grateful for my assistance in picking her up." Gwen replied with a forced smile, "She also held a gun to my head, so that's always welcome... I think?"

"Whoa, whoa... wait." John interrupted, holding his hands out as he slowly came to terms with what he was hearing. He was also slightly uncomfortable with how casually Gwen was discussing her profession. "You helped her get away?" He asked, slightly annoyed that she had kept it from him. _As usual..._

Pulling a face, Gwen looked at John sheepishly. "Cat's out of the bag." She gave a soft shrug, smiling at the doctor. "I should probably explain... I've been a very busy girl."


End file.
